


From Dark to Shadow

by IchijouKenichiro



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Backstory, Blood and Injury, DnD 4e, Drow, Drow Culture, Elfebruary 2019, F/F, F/M, Gender Identity, Gender Roles, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Violence, Lolth - Freeform, Menzoberranzan, Mild Gore, Trans Characters, Underdark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 22:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 36,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17969024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IchijouKenichiro/pseuds/IchijouKenichiro
Summary: Zarriia had been born thinking of herself as a rather typical Drow child. That was, until she woke up to find she was cursed by the taint of Corellon. Now she is forced to make harsh choices in order to keep her secrets, or risk more than just her life.





	1. Day 1: Lights and Fires

**Author's Note:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017. After spending hours and hours researching what her life before the campaign would be, I had wanted an excuse to actually put down some of that hard work. What a fun way to be able able to do so. This is glimpses of her backstory. 
> 
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

The first time that Zarriia had been able to successfully use her darkfire, she was four years old. It was not a particularly early age for a Drow child to do so, nor was it particularly old to have the gift manifest. Not that she was known as Zarriia then. Her parents had named her Calal, meaning noble rage, in hopes that she would be fierce but graceful.

The first time she had used her darkfire, purple light emanating from the surface of the candle beside her bed, shone dimly on the floor and walls and the cloth that divided her corner of the small bedroom she shared with her family. It gave her the first feeling of pride she had ever had in her life. It was the first thing that she had been able to do on her own. No one else could say they had done it for her. She had managed it for herself.

As soon as her mother had finished with the last customer, Calal had raced to show her the progress she had made.

Her mother, a fairly plain, but not unattractive, looking Drow, gave Calal a look up and down and watched her child cast darkfire again, scrutinizing the technique. A slight grin had tugged the corner of her mouth and Calal had known that she had impressed her mother. It was reckless to show a child affection other than to encourage their skills and to beat them into working harder. Calal was elated by her mother’s approval, even if nothing too praiseworthy was said. Just a curt, “I expect the next time I see you use that it is brighter, Calal.”

Still, being able to illuminate your surroundings in the Underdark was a good sign that you might be able to survive to adulthood. Zarriia’s family were not poor, they were fairly well known merchants in Menzoberranzan’s Eastmyr District. But the priestesses of of the city always took too many of their poisons and needed samples of too many of the mushrooms that made up their raw ingredients for them to ever be truly well off. Even most of the textiles that they got through trade with Ched Nasad were confiscated for having caught a priestess’ eyes, wrapped up in the parcels of items that were rarely, if ever, paid for. In fact, anything that caught the light and shimmered was a prime target for the priestesses and their insatiable desire for finery.

But that was just the reality of how priestesses lived. They were both hedonistic and the ultimate authority in the city. To go against them would mean your death. So Zarriia’s family worked to gather more mushrooms, to produce more poisons, and to barter for more textiles.

Zarriia was comfortable though in her young life. Well, as comfortable as any small child could be in the Underdark and of her status. Her father showed her how to use her darkfire to find the the best mushrooms and which ones were the most profitable.

As soon as she was old enough to go on her own, the job was left to her to go the outskirts of the city to gather mushrooms. While she was out, her mother set about making potions and tending to the business of the shop. Her father made sure to take care of all the manual jobs, carting stores of items, cleaning the shop, and making deliveries.

After spending so much of her day surrounded by bustling crowds in the Bazaar, nothing was as relaxing as going into the dark with just her darkfire’s violet glow. The smell of mushroom spores and damp earth all around replacing the smell of incense and perfume and the sweat of slaves.

The purple flame of her dark fire always filled her with a warm feeling. She loved the way it flickered around the mushrooms, making them almost look like they were greeting her. Sometimes she would set alight a whole ring of mushrooms and watch as the harmless fire waved all around her. It made her feel like she was a priestess of mushrooms and she would dance and sing in Drow Sign to them, though never long enough to get in trouble for not being productive. 

Being in charge of collecting mushrooms was her favorite part of her work.


	2. Day 4: Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calal's father talks to Calal about trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

“Calal, what’re you doin’?” her father yelled at her as she was talking with a young boy who was leaning into the store through the window.

“’m just talking tah Lartyrr,” she replied.

The boy saw her father approaching and ran off. Calal frowned after his retreating form.

Her father walked towards her, his hands fisted. He looked angry.“And juss who is Lartyrr? Is dat that boy you ‘ere just speaking ‘ah?”

“Yes, ‘ir,” she replied, knowing already from his tone that she was getting into trouble for something she hadn’t meant to.

“An’ wud I tell youse about talkin’ a strangers?”

“Only if theys gots coin,” said Calal.

Her father nodded. “‘at’s right. So did ‘e ‘ave coin?”

She shook her head. “But ‘e did ‘ave a trade,” she offered, hopefully.

“Whadda ‘e offer youse then, Calal?”

“Well, ‘e said e’d bring mes a big fish if I let ‘im have summa 'ur mushrooms,” said Calal with a big grin.

She instantly regretted it. Her father’s grim look only got darker. “Are youse tellin’ me youse lets this boy ‘ave summa our mushrooms on a promise offa fish?”

Calal nodded. Afraid to speak.

“We shoulda sacrificed you ta the goddess insteadah yer oldda brother.”

“Father, ’m–”

He held up a hand and Calal went quiet.

“Whadda we keep telling youse ‘bout trustin’ folks?”

“Jal khaless zhah waela,” Calal muttered under her breath. It was the mantra that she heard again and again.

“What ‘as that, Calal? I couldn’t ‘ear yuh.”

“All trust be foolish.”

Her father nodded. “Dat’s right. Youse never trusts no one, ya ‘ear me, Calal?”

“Yes, ‘ir.”

“Good.”

She knew her next thought was even more foolish, but the rebellious part of herself had to speak up. “But I can trusts mother and youse, right, Father?”

Her father grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her away, off the shop floor, and into the stairwell up to their living quarters. “‘course youse can’t!” he scolded.

“But–”

“But what, Calal?” her father demanded, holding her up by her arm so tightly she was made to stand on her tiptoes, her shoulder being painfully wrenched.

“I mean… don’ts youse trust mother?” she asked sheepishly.

The back of her father’s hand came hard against her cheek. “What kinda fool child I raised youse fer? ‘course I don’t trusts yer mother! This be her business, Calal. Alls I trust ‘er fer is watchin’ affer ‘er business. An’ even then, if a priestess comes by ‘ere an says, ‘gimme yer male, Merchant, I wanna whip someone bout’ the square, ‘an yer male looks ‘bout perfect’, youse think yer mother is gonna tell ‘er no?”

“We can’ts say no's fer the priestesses,” said Calal.

“‘xactly! Yer mother would juss get ‘erself another male fer to replace me. Same’d ‘appen to youse if a priestess asked to take youse. Don’t youse ferget. We belong first to yer mother, then fer any other ‘igher rank female what’s askin’ fer us. Youse better remember that.”

“Yes, ‘ir.”

“Good. Now get back out dere and earn yer mother some coin. I gots a few deliveries. And no more deals wiff no coin. Youse ‘ear me?”

Calal nodded. She would not make the same mistake twice. Her father had been too busy to give her a proper punishment this time. It was her opportunity to thank him for it by showing she could be valuable to the business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jal khaless zhah waela - Drow saying meaning "All trust is foolish"


	3. Day 26:Superstition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calal runs an important errand for her mother. She must remember to do it all properly or risk a curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

Calal checked the small vial of poison she had tucked in her pocket, it was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. The cork was secure. The vial still full. 

She breathed a sigh of relief. She had worried that in her darting through the alleys and slipping through the market's crowds she might have dropped it.

Calal checked up and down the dark corner between buildings that she had stopped in. There did not seem to be anyone paying any attention to her. It was one of the traits that her mother found the most valuable about her.

Cala's calm and quiet demeanor seemed to put people at ease, if they noticed her at all. Her features were attractive enough, but nothing so unique or exquisite that it attracted any attention to her. She faded into the shadows easily. Her mother always said that was a trait that would keep her safe. A male that did not draw attention to himself was thought to be a useful tool.

That others saw Calal as an obedient, rarely questioning male, meant that people would forget her having been there. She was easily confused with other males. It gave her a sort of invisibility she could not have had in any other way.

As soon as her mother had learned that Calal could travel around unseen, she began to find ways to make use of her. This was one such circumstance. It was time to get rid of two rivals at once.

New to the bazaar, was a poison merchant from Ched Nasad, where her mother traded for fabrics. Apparently, this new merchant was looking to steal her mother’s well-earned list of clients.

Just the week before, this same Ched Nasad merchant had threaten Calal’s mother’s long-standing rival, Sinafae. For the better part of the last century, the battle had been between her mother and Sinafae. The two woman fought viciously and competitively for the favor of the city’s more prestigious clientele. 

Now it was time to take care of two of her mother’s greatest rivals at once.

She stood on her tip-toes to see into the window of Sinafae’s shop. Calal recognized the equipment and shorthand within. The window was, foolishly, left open. A glass of wine lay just a little ways inside the window.

Calal boosted herself up to the window’s ledge and reached out, she could just make the stretch. She gripped as hard as she could and hefted her chest up over the ledge so her hands would be free. Then she pulled the vial out, removing the stopper and began to stretch out her arm.

She suddenly pulled her arm back as though she had been burned. What a fool! She could have invited Sinafae‘s future ghost to lay a curse upon her family, upon her!

Carefully, Calal re-corked the vial and tipped back the liquid against the stopper before she removed it again. She knew it was far too potent a poison to touch to her tongue, so she pressed the poison-coated bottom of the cork to the outside of her bottom lip.

You had to be willing to show that you are at Lolth’s mercy and not trying to usurp it, or the ghost of those you kill could come back and drag you to you death with them. It was a rule for poisoners, a spell to ward off harm. You had to let the deceased know that you were not bestowing a fate upon them that you did not understand. You had to show that you were aware of your mortality and your status in the world. This appeased the parting spirit so that they respected the death given them and did not attempt to haunt you and your descendants. Lolth would not empower their spirits to grow bold and attempt to come after you.

Calal groaned at the pressure against her chest, but reached her arm back across to the table and poured the contents of the poison into the wine. Then she carefully held the vial against the side of the wall and let it roll down, trying to preserve as much of the torn label from the Ched Bassad merchant’s shop.

The vial slid down the wall and made a light tinkle as it rolled along the stone wall. It shattered on impact with the floor.

Calal knew it would matter little. The evidence would speak for itself. And with only one family member poisoned, there was no doubt that it would spark justice to be sought, by the law or personally by Sinafae's family.

Not that a merchant was likely to spark a true investigation, but should there be one, it would be easy to track who should be held responsible. Once the witnesses to the recent fight came was forward and the label discovered, anyone still bothering to investigate would be led to a single conclusion, murder by a certain new merchant from Ched Bassad.

Calal took another torn part of the label and dropped it in the alleyway as she slipped back towards the market. Unseen. Moving completely devoid of notice. She hoped this would make her mother proud.


	4. Elfebruary Day 9: Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia finds the first signs that she suffers Corellon's curse.
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains a character wrestling with suicidal thoughts and suicide attempts. I will place an asterisk at the point where such content is upcoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning: This chapter contains a character wrestling with suicidal thoughts and suicide attempts. I will place an asterisk at the point where such content is upcoming.**

Calal opened her eyes. She sat up in her bed and lit the candle beside it to start getting ready for the day. It was her job to get up and start preparing the shop before her parents woke up.

She made sure to move silently along the stone so as not to anger her mother who slept lightly. With only a heavy cloth sectioning off her corner of the room, she took particular care to get her clothing out as silently as possible.

Calal pulled her sleeping tunic off over her head and then froze.

She looked at her chest. Staring back at her were two little perky breasts.

Her eyes widened. She pressed a finger against one. She felt it move under her own touch and felt the push of her finger against her chest.

She almost giggled, but covered her mouth. It was her dream come true! She had gone to sleep and dreamed about if she finally had a female body. Then here she was, looking down at it.

It was so strange a thing to be face to face with. Finally it felt like she was looking at herself for the first time. Everything she felt inside was finally given form. She fished out the small dagger she kept for collecting mushrooms.

She gazed up and down at her image in the metal surface. She frowned. It was hard to really get a good look at herself. The blade was small and the image was not very clear. If they were wealthier merchants, they might have had a looking glass. Her only other option was to go to the lake and hope the reflection would be a way to see better.

Another thought occurred to her and Calal shoved down her trousers hurriedly, noticing that they were nearly getting stuck on the now wider hips.

She could have screamed with joy. Every part of her had changed. She was complete. It was all she had ever wished for in her secret thoughts. She was female. Truly female. Not just in her heart and soul, but her body too!

She sat back down on her bed to let it sink in. She could go out in the town and not have to worry about lowering her eyes. She could actually address anyone she met. And anyone that looked at her would know on sight that she was a female. The feeling was so exhilarating, she almost felt as though she were flying.

Then she frowned. Calal held her hands over her chest. Fear griped her and her heart sunk. 

She recalled that she had heard rumors of a mage who could change herself into a male at will. When the story had reached the city, the temple had been quick to point out that it was no gift or talent, but a curse. Those who were capable of such things had the taint of Corellon. Those that carried the taint could change their shape whenever they awoke, but it was a sign that they were cursed.

The shape that Lolth provided was them with was sacred. Lolth was the true mother of Elven kind. It had been Corellon who had urged the other elves to turn their back against her, to betray Lolth. Corellon had cast the Drow into the darkness. He had tricked the other elves into worshiping him in Lolth’s stead.

Corellon was the enemy of all Drow, and blessed his followers when they slew Lolth’s faithful. Some father of elven kind her turned out to be.

If she was shown to have the taint of Corellon in her… certainly she would be put to death. Publicly and slowly, to serve as an example to others. Her father would likely be killed as well. Her mother’s reputation would be ruined.

Calal went to where her belt was hung and she put it around her chest, pulling it until it was on the tightest setting she could stand. The leather pinched her flesh, every movement catching, but at least it helped to flatten her chest.

She threw on her tunic. Then put another, looser one, on top of that.

She knew she had to get away for people as quickly as possible.

She slipped out to the front closet and grabbed her cloak, drawing it close to her. Calal knew she hadn’t brushed her hair and it probably looked a mess, but she did not wish to linger longer than she had to. No one could know. No one could ever, ever find out.

She gently closed the shop door behind her, locking it. Calal looked both ways outside the door. The marketplace was mostly vacant, just a few males washing windows or sweeping outside of other shops.

Calal took a few cautious steps away from the shop, trying to make sure no one that knew her or her parents saw her.

“Mornin’, Calal. Offa get yer ma more mushrooms?”

Calal froze. It was Lartyrr, the fish monger’s son. She hadn’t yet seen if her voice had changed too, but not wishing to chance it, she simply coughed and nodded, then ran as fast as she could away from town. Lartyrr’s voice rang out behind her, but she did not slow her pace.

She knew that Lartyrr had too many duties to go running after her. She would be fine. She just had to get away from everyone and figure out how to make her body change back. Everyone saw her as a male. And a male seen to change his body to be female, would be the greater affront than a female deigning to try out being a male. They might think she was trying to rebel against the law or society. Or even that she was going to help surface Elves launch an attack on Menzoberranzan.

She didn’t stop running until she reached the mushroom gathering fields outside of the city. She threw herself down upon the ground. Her throat and lungs burned from running, her legs ached. Calal wanted the earth to open up underneath her and swallow her whole.

*****

Tears began to well up in her eyes. The one thing she had wanted the most was now the last thing she wanted. It felt like her desires and what she knew was right were at odds. She felt as though she was being pulled in two.

What had she done to anger Lolth? Why had the goddess given her the thing she wanted most, only to make it be her doom? Were these feelings that she wasn’t supposed to be born a male the cause of all her pain? Should she have just ignored it?

There had to be a way to make amends. Prayers she could recite or offerings she could make. Something, anything, that would show her dedication to Lolth. To confirm that Lolth had not simply cast her aside to suffer.

Or perhaps Lolth wanted her to suffer. Was even considering the idea that she was not what Lolth had shaped her to be a worthy enough reason to suffer? Was this a chance for her to change her mind and beg forgiveness so she might be exonerated for her sinful mind?

Calal knew that if her dreams could determined what body she awoke with and she did not learn to control it, she would never be safe from danger.

And even should she learn to control it, could one night of being too tired or not paying attention be enough to cast her secret into the open?

She did not wish to chance that happening. Not for any reason. She was a good girl. A good Drow! Even if she had to live in the wrong body, living a life of a male in servitude, she would be happy if it meant she could stay faithful to Lolth.

Calal sobbed, her cries swallowed by the darkness around her. She knew she was not supposed to let herself show such emotion. It was a weakness. It was yet another sign that she was unworthy.

She plucked up a nearby mushroom. It’s velvety red flesh told her that this was one of the stronger ingredients for her mother’s poisons.

Her hand shook. She held it up to her lips. Calal did not want to die, but how could she live with this? Would it not be better to die a fast death than to be slowly tortured to death?

Calal’s whole body trembled. She had no idea how painful eating the mushroom might be. No clue what to expect would happen once she swallowed.

But how could she look her mother in the eyes and tell her that she was cursed? How could she watch her father receive the lashings of being the one to create such a revolting child from his seed, an abomination!

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

This was the only way. It had to be the only way.

Calal said a small prayer to Lolth.

At least in choosing this path, it would save her parents. They could have more children. Better children. Children who were not cursed.

Calal opened her mouth and put the mushroom in.


	5. Day 13: Wildlife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calal learns that someone knows her greatest secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

Calal sat upon a large flat-topped stalagmite, her lunch in her lap. A freshly caught fish. She took her boot knife and began to descale it as best as she could, holding its head with the end of her tunic to keep a grip.

She had been lucky that using her Darkfire on a pebble with a dab of sleeping potion on it and dangling it from a string had been enough to attract a fish. Although they were mostly blind, they were attracted to the light.

As soon as the scales were off, she sunk her teeth into the fish's flesh. It’s refreshing salty flavor was better than she usually thought of the fish as having. She must have waited too long before taking her lunch. She was just lucky the thing hadn't woken up while she was still trying to scale it.

She threw the bones aside when she was done and shouldered her half-filled basket of mushrooms. Then Calal headed back towards the spot that she knew was good for harvesting the violet fungi used to make Psychotropic Rot Poison.

As she began to trek forward, she heard a squelching sound behind her. She looked towards the stalagmite she had eaten at. Calal’s eyes quickly scanned the area, looking for the source of the sound. She could not see anything.

The sound persisted. She took a couple of steps backwards, pulling out her boot knife and holding it out in front of her. She used her Darkfire, illuminating the stalagmite in a bright purple glow.

The noise grew more fervent. It was so close, but she could not see anything.

Her hands trembled. She clutched the hilt of her knife more tightly.

Something began to move along the side of the stalagmite. Calal watched, holding her breath.

A slime mold crept up to the top flat area where Calal had previously been sitting. She could see the bones of her fish moving within the semi-translucent body of the slime.

Calal knew that the slime molds did not move quickly, so she turned and ran as quickly as she could. She knew of another good harvesting area north east of the main gate of the city. It was best to go elsewhere, just in case it was not just one. In groups they could be quite voracious and dangerous.

The sounds of the slime faded into the distance and Calal slowed to catch her breath. She turned one last time behind her, to make sure that nothing else was following her.

She suddenly ran straight into something and fell onto her back.

“Whad’ja doin’ Calal?”

Calal turned to look at who she had run into. It was Quiljss, the tanner’s son. He had a bow slung around his shoulder and a rope with several Spitting Crawlers tied together at the feet. The lizards were a good source of leather, particularly for items that were preferred to be soft, like gloves and hats.

“’m juss tryin’ to ‘urry. Ma has lots a deliv’ries fer me. Youse out ‘untin’, Quiljss?”

He held up his prize proudly. “Yeah. Got a good haul t’day.”

“Youse a good ‘unter, Quiljss. Your ma must be prouda youse.”

Quiljss held out a hand to Calal, who took it. Quiljss pulled Calal up to her feet. “I won’t be gettin’ a lashing with this lot, that’s fer sure.”

“Well, ‘ll see youse back in town then,’ said Calal, putting her knife back into her boot. She turned from him to go back to collecting mushrooms.

Quiljss‘ hand shot out and grabbed her arm. “Calal, the day I found youse in the field, youse ‘ere asleep an’ Cavvekans were surrounding youse to eats youse… I saw somethin’.”

Calal froze, her blood ran cold. That was the day she had awoken to find herself with the body of a female.

She turned to Quiljss. “Wha’d youse see?” she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“Yer body,” said Quiljss, coming to stand in front of her. His eyes traveled down to her chest. “Youse weren’t a male anymore. Yer body was like a female. I saws what youse looked like.”

Calal tried her hardest to keep her emotions off of her face, but her ears were already flattening against the side of her head, betraying her full fear. “I’s don’t know whatch yer talkin’ ‘bout, Quiljss, but i's naught funny.”

Quiljss stepped closer to Calal, not letting go of his grip on her. “I know youse do. Yer ma was talkin’ ‘bout how youse musta eatin’ one a them poison mushrooms somehow. Parts a' sleepin' potion. It’s somethin’ youse ‘ave done if youse were spooked. Youse know 'ow dangerous eatin' 'em can be. Youse wouldn't a dun it fer no reason."

"I think youse been in yer pa' liquor 'gain," said Calal, trying to get Quiljss to drop it.

"Youse think thass why, Calal?"

"Well, 'ad ta be, Quiljss. You 'an see me. Do I looks like a female?"

"Oh, yeah, now youse do. But I touched yer chest to see if youse were breathin’, Calal. I knows what I felt. Youse had more'n a male's chest.”

Calal tried to pull her hand away, but Quiljss just pulled her closer to him, his free hand roaming across her chest.

“Youse had a full chest. Not flat like this,” said Quiljss.

“Let go a me, Quiljss, yer ‘urtin’ me,” cried Calal, trying to wrench herself from his grip. But Quiljss was taller than she was by several inches and far more muscular, too. While she moved might goods like mushrooms and vials of poison, he was out tracking animals and hauling them back home.

“I’ll keep yer secret,” Quiljss assured her, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Fer a price.”

“What kinda price?” Calal already did not trust him, but she was left little recourse.

The biggest, proudest smile spread across Quiljss‘ lips. It turned Calal’s stomach. He could ask nearly anything of her and she would have no choice but to do it.

“Meet me after yer chores on the Isle of Rothe. I’ll tell youse then.”


	6. Day 11: Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calal has decided that Quiljss knowing her secrets is too dangerous. She decides it's time to protect herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

Calal looked at the small scrap of stolen paper she had scribbled her notes on. She had watched her mother mixing up poisons the night before, observing the procedure through a small hole in the wall.

She had scratched the letters from the mushroom container onto the paper, along with a line underneath for each mushroom that was mixed in. Her mother had been very careful with this poison, wearing gloves to grind it into a powder. This was one of the poisons that was stored only in powder form. The Ghostcap poison. 

Calal knew that this poison became thick if any moisture was added and it let off a putrid smell. Usually it would be added to thick black sauces made from edible mushrooms in order to cover up the smell and texture. She also heard that you could mix a little water to the powder to make a thick substance perfect for coating the tips of blades and arrows.

If she took one of the prepared poisons, her mother would know. Calal’s mother kept very detailed records of how many poisons were sold and how many were taken for a priestess’ fancy. She always wanted record of who took what. It would be far too suspicious if one of them were to go missing.

However, when it came to the number of actual mushrooms, her mother was less careful. If a single mushroom, or even two, were taken, it was not likely to be caught. All she had to do was wait for a priestess to take some of the same mushroom with an order, then Calal could simply hide the couple she was taking for herself. It would not be suspicious in the least when her mother did inventory later.

And so she waited. It was days, seemingly weeks before anyone even asked about Ghostcap.

Finally, her chance had come. Calal’s mother had gone out to negotiate on a trade deal. Her father was out, delivering a large shipment to a customer in the west part of the Duthcloim District. As soon as a priestess had come and taken an assortment of various mushrooms, including the Ghostcaps, she pocketed two of them, wrapping them carefully in her handkerchief. 

When the shop was empty, she rushed to her mother’s workshop and pulled down the mortar and pestle for working with ghostcaps. She did what she had seen her mother doing, carefully grinding the dried mushrooms down into a fine powder, one at a time, stalk first, cap second.

Calal’s heart was beating so fast. Every sound she heard from out on the street made her jump, she feared it would be a customer coming into the shop or one of her parents returning for the day. As soon as it looked like the powder they sold in packets, Calal poured her mixture into the scrap of paper she had written the formula on and folded it into a small envelope. She took her pinky and scrapped the bottom of the mortar, her finger coated in the fine mushroom dust and rubbed it along her bottom lip. Then she carefully slid it into the space between two of her tunics so that it would stay dry and out of sight.

She returned to the counter and worked the rest of the day as though nothing had happened. She thought about all the excuses she could make if her mother asked her anything about missing mushrooms or if someone had been into the workroom.

When her mother returned, she quickly wiped the powder from her lip.

As usual, her mother asked Calal about the sales. Calal handed her mother over the sheet that bore the symbols for each of the city’s great houses and another for each of the major classes with person's signature or an X, the tally of taken items beneath. Her mother shook her head.

“The priestesses take any mushrooms wiff ‘em, Calal?”

Calal rubbed her nose to cover her mouth, making sure that there wasn't any poison dust still on her lip. “Yes, mother.”

“Boy, what’ve aye told youse ‘bout mumblin’?“ asked Calal’s mother, taking the small reed broom from the wall.

“Not ta, mother.”

The broom struck Calal across the cheek. “Thas right. An’ if youse do it ‘gain, I’mma give youse a reason tah mumble.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Good. Now get tah yer chores, fer yer pa gets back.”

“Yes, mother,” said Calal. She bowed low to her mother. “May I start?”

Her mother nodded, voice softening, almost regretful in tone. “Go on.”

Calal went to her room and got her cloak, making sure to slip the packet of poison into the pocket of her trousers before she pulled the cloak close around her. Then she went to front closet, took down the bucket, and gave her mother a small wave before she headed out of the shop towards the well.

Being out of the house gave her a small window of time in which she could finally set her plan into motion. She could not be gone long or her mother would know she was not where she was supposed to be. But she needed to do this now. Even a little bit of sweat could cause her poison to begin giving off a pungent odor and she would lose the opportunity to go unnoticed.

Luckily for Calal, the tanner’s shop was along her path to the well.

She went slowly passed it, keeping her eye out for people. The last two customers were filing out the front door with their purchases. Calal could feel her heartbeat increasing as she tried to seem as casual as possible, not looking in their direction as she headed passed the shop. 

Calal went to the well and hurriedly filled her bucket, she did not wish to waste an extra time.

As she was coming back passed the tanner’s shop, she saw him. It was Quiljss. He smiled when he saw her and motioned her to come to him. He was standing back in the alley between his parent’s shop and the tailor’s. Calal tried to keep her breath even as she looked around to make sure they weren't being watched by anyone. Then she reluctantly walked over towards Quiljss.

“Thought I weren’t gun find ya, Calal. I missed youse.” He walked up to meet her, always standing just a little bit more in her personal space than was comfortable.

“What youse need ‘a me for, Quiljss? If mah ma or pa find me late, I’mma get a right beatin’.”

Quiljss put a hand on Calal’s face. She knew better than to pull away.

“Youse treat me like youse dun trust me, Calal. Bu' if youse keep list’nin’ a me, yer secret’ll be safe.”

Calal chewed her lip. Now she just needed a way to get Quiljss to take the poison. With him dead, no one would know that she had been cursed by Corellon. There would be no one who would even suspect her of it.

“Dun give me tha’ look, Calal. I saved yer life, 'member? Youse owe me.” He took her by the shoulder and lead her further back down the alley, away from where people passing by could easily see or hear them.

“I know, Quiljss. An' I'm thankful. Really. I juss...." 

The taller Drow leaned in pulled Calal's body against his. She knew he was showing her his superiour height and strength. She knew it was a tactic to intimidate her into doing what he wanted. And time and time again it had worked. "I's awight, Calal. I'm 'ere ta prot'ct youse. Youse keep doin' what I's be tellin' youse to, I'll keep youse safe."

<"I know," said Calal and set down her bucket of water. Feeling those warm arms pull her even closer. She swallowed hard. She could hear her own nervousness. It embarrassed her that she had allowed herself to be taken advantage of. And worse, Calal did feel somehow safer when Quiljss wrapped his arms around her and held her. It didn't make any sense to her that putting herself into danger like this should, but the feeling remained. Even as she knew it was false and that Quiljss was happy to continue to manipulate her into getting anything he wanted. Sometimes she thought that the tasks he required of her were more to test her commitment to her secret, to him, than it was about his true desires.

"If yer ma' ever has 'erself a daughter, they won't need youse 'round tha shop. We could go an' live in tha' wild tagetha'. Juss youse and me, Calal. We cud 'ave our own family. I can see youse raisin' us a few childrun. 'm sure ma seed'd be strong." 

She could not believe her ears. Did he really believe such an idiotic fantasy could happen? To be honest, she wasn't sure if her female body could even have children. And what would happen to any child she carried if she accidentally woke back up with a male body? Not to mention that they were both males to society, if they were caught--no, she wouldn't even think about that. This was a child's dream. A dangerously stupid child who was fool enough to think that if she were to be able to live as female that she would not automatically be the one in control. That he would use her secret to gain power like that. It went against the proper social order.

Her resolve solidified, she wrapped her arms around his neck. "That douse sound nice, Quiljss." She kissed him and he immediately kissed her back. His body reacting immediately to her affections. She could feel just how much he wanted her to buy into his fantasy. She would never choose a male like that. "An’ I ‘ave somethin’ fer youse. I was thinkin’ if I gives it to youse, youse might call us even on the savin' bit. Then may'e we cud work more on tha future. Our future.” Calal turned a bit to the side as though she was excited and embarrassed about her feelings. she decided to continue to play submissive to Quiljss. If she seemed easily duped, perhaps he would underestimate her ability.

“Depends," Quiljss said, his voice hungry, "what youse got?”

Calal looked around, as if to make sure no one was around them on the street outside the alleyway. “Youse got to promise youse won’t tells nobody.”

Quiljss laughed. “Youse should know by now I’s keep mah secrets. An’ yer’s too.”

She held the bit of paper in her hand and wavered.

“Calal,” said Quiljss, stroking her cheek and slid down his arm around her waist. “Jus’ tell me. Youse know youse can trust me. An' I'll makes sure youse safe.”

She looked around again before standing on her toes to reach Quiljss’ ear. “Do youse have a small cuppah water?” Calal whispered, making sure her lips brushed his ear.

Quiljss's ear twitched and he shivered at her touch. With a smile pulled back and nodded. He was practically panting and she could feel his arousal against her. His voice wavered as he spoke. “I’mma go grab a cup. Youse got the water right there. I'mma be r'ght back.”

Calal nodded and waited while Quiljss went into the shop and returned later with a small cup, holding it out for her.

“Ma’s been givin’ this out juss to tha priestesses. I ‘eard ‘er tellin’ them it made ‘em extra strong. I dun wanna get caught, so I juss took a little bit that she wouldn’tah noticed. Juss 'n case I saw youse.”

She watched as Quiljss’ eyes grew wide with fascination, his imagination already running wild with what he could do.

“I tells youse what, Calal. Youse mah very special friend. Bes’ bloke a lad couldah ast fer. We's got what sum'd call, a special relat'nship. So 'ere. Let me’s try it an’ see if it do’s what youse say. If it do’s, then I’mma go ahead an’ call us even. An' then, we's can talk 'bout our future.”

Calal chewed more on her lip and shifted her weight between her feet. She was nervous that the moment Quiljss smelled the poison he wouldn’t drink it. But now that she had set everything in motion, she couldn’t simply stop there. Quiljss was a threat to her. A threat to her family. To everything. She wouldn't end up living her life as a female in the mild of nowhere with an idiot like this.

He had already started asking favors of her to pay him back for finding her in the field and saving her life. Just because he had seen her with a female body! It was too risky not to go through with it. The small favors weren't so bad, bring a bit of fabric or let him see her female body again. The small sorts of things. But he just always wanted more.

She hated when he looked at her with that satisfied smile. He was so smug that he could get her to do whatever he wanted. If she let this go on it would only escalate. That’s what her mother had taught her. Once someone knows they have power over you, they will exploit it. They will keep pushing the limits until you have nothing left.

Already Quiljss kept leering at her male body whenever he saw her. He was a few years older and she could tell that eventually he was going to ask her to do something with her female body she wouldn't want. Or that he might just decide to tell others about her secret to gain their trust. If it spread, who knows what ends she might have to go to to get out of the blackmail.

There were too many possibilities. All of them awful.

She filled the cup with water, then opened the packet. “Youse have tah drink it soon as it touches tha water, else it dun work right. Thas how I’s seen the priestesses do it.”

Quiljss laughed. He snatched the packet from Calal’s hand and poured it into his mouth, downing the water immediately afterwards.

“Youse stupid, Calal. Youse juss gave me it an’ I still say youse and I ain– ain– ain't even.”

Calal took a step back. Quiljss seemed to be having trouble swallowing.

“Youse a’right?”she asked.

“Juss dizzy. Must be th–” Quiljss rubbed his eyes. “I think iss workin’.”

Calal watched carefully, not wanting to arouse any suspicion. She had no idea how long it would take to work.

He took a step towards her, shaking on his legs. “Calal, wuss in this?” Quiljss unfolded the paper and started to look at her writing. It was all symbolic, so she knew he wouldn’t be able to understand.

“I told youse, ma gives this to the priestesses,” said Calal, taking another step backwards.

Quiljss threw himself on her, pinning her to the wall. She squeaked in fear as her back hit the stone.

“‘ere’s what I wan youse to do fer me,” snarled Quiljss, his speech starting to slur as though he were drunk, “youse gun meet me back in dah… dat field. An’ youse gun ‘ave yer female parts there. An’ youse…”

Calal felt the hands on her shoulders growing sweaty and weak.

“Please, Quiljss, yer strengths ‘urtin’ me,” Calal begged softly.

She knew he was weakening from the poison. It was working, albeit slowly. She just had to stall him long enough for him to die. If this took too long, not only would she be in trouble, but there was a chance someone might find out that he was poisoned. She wasn’t sure if it was too small a dose or if it just took a while to set in. Or worse yet, perhaps she had mixed it wrong.

He shook his head vigorously, then looked half dazed. “Why youse lookin’ at me’s with three eyes, Calal? 's rude!”

“I’m scared, Quiljss. Yer scarin’ me.”

He laughed at her then ran a finger down her chest and abdomen. He took a step forward, his hand continuing to move lower. His ankle gave out and he fell to the ground, his hands barely managing to catch himself as he fell.

“‘Who did that?!” he bellowed, whipping around behind him.

Calal stayed against the wall, looking to see if his voice had attracted anyone. So far, it hadn’t.

"Stay back, creasure!"

"Quiljss, wha's there?"

He pulled a knife from his boot, swinging it at the air. "I said, stay back!"

"Quiljss?" Calal asked, looking between her victim and the vacant alleyway.

Suddenly Quiljss screamed. “Juss stay 'way from me! Get away!”

Calal turned to the other direction of the alley where Quiljss was facing. There really was no one there. The alley and the street beyond were empty as far as she could see.

“Quiljss, please. Tell me's whaddit is.”

He scrambled to his feet, stumbling and falling to his knees as he did. Calal could see that his face was filled with terror.

“What youse see?” asked Calal, suddenly worried that maybe she really couldn't see the thing that was scaring him. That maybe it was real.

“GET AWAY!” Quiljss shrieked and threw himself out of the alleyway, falling and getting up several times as he turned the corner of the building. Calal looked where he had been yelling and still saw nothing there.

She crept to the end of the alley and peered around the edge of the corner building to watch Quiljss run screaming towards the well. She gripped the stone of the tailor’s shop wall as she watched, worrying about what he might do as he got away. Unsure if she should try and go after him.

As he approached the well he did not stop. Was he going to try and jump over it? Did he not see it? Had the poison kept him from being able to see things properly? Did it blind him?

As she continued to watch, Quiljss did not trip, but rather, threw himself, diving head first, into the well.

Calal gasped. She heard the sickening crack of bones as Quiljss’ body went tumbling into the well. It was followed by a loud splash.

She stayed there, staring, wondering if he was going to call for help. Her hands covered her mouth. She could not breathe. She couldn't even move. She just stared at the well.

No noise came. There was no movement. There weren't even any people walking around. It was the perfect time for her to slip away.

Clamping down on anything she felt, Calal picked up the fallen bit of paper and burnt it in her hand.

One way or another, she had gotten what she wanted.


	7. Day 2: Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calal is given a reward for saving the life of a priestess in her shop. But is Lady Zarriia's reward more of punishment?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

A hand reached down towards Calal and wiped a smear of blood from her face, then held one out to help her up.

Calal looked up into the face of her priestess before remembering she was not allowed to and she turned her eyes back downward. “May I ‘ave permission ta take yer hand, mis'ress?” she asked.

The priestess tilted her head to look down at Calal. “You may,” she said in a playful tone. Her silver hair was still perfectly pinned back into a high bun except in one lock, which curved along her jaw in an alluring way. Calal would never speak of it, however. That sort of talk was likely to get you whipped or caned.

Calal took the priestess’ hand and stood. She was still covered in the blood of the House Charavin's slave.

“Oh, I recognize you now. You are the one that hangs the fabrics and makes deliveries. You did well. It is good to see that your family taught you properly. I assume you attended Sorcere?”

“No, mis'ress,” replied Calal, making a conscious effort to keep her eyes cast downward.

“Oh. I see. How many years have you, child?”

Calal’s throat felt suddenly dry. “Twe-twenty three, mis'ress.”

“Why are you not attending then? You are of proper age.”

Calal felt somewhat ashamed. Her family was not poor, but they were not well to do enough that she could attend the prestigious institution. Even if she had more magical aptitude than many of her peers, Sorcere was reserved for those of true abilities, those with the means. Even if they were willing to take a commoner without a sponsor, she did not like to show off her talents. It was bad to bring too much attention to yourself. Her mother always said that when it came to the city’s elite, it was best to be obedient, but only be useful enough not to get yourself killed.

“’m busy with workin fer my ma', mis'ress,” she said, not wanting to keep the priestess waiting. If only she think of a better excuse.

“An obedient child, I see. Well, I shall make sure to stop by your shop again tomorrow to show my gratitude.”

Gratitude? This was bad. Calal knew her mother would be cross. Giving a priestess a reason to come by the shop meant losing even more merchandise. You could never charge them for goods and they would never expect to spend a single coin.

Calal doubled over, bowing as low as she could manage, her forehead touching her knees,and her hair falling over into the pool of blood left in the wake of the dead slave. “Thank you, mis'ress. We’re always honored fer yer patronage,” she said in a rush.

The priestess chuckled. “And you can tell the lady of the house that her poisons have proven to be quite useful. They are my favorite of all the artisans in the Eastmyr district. Fast and effective.”

“Yes, mist'ess. ‘m honored tuh relay yer praise,” said Calal, still bowed over.

A slender hand grasped Calal’s chin and lifted it up. “Let me look at you,” said the priestess.

Calal tried not to make eye contact as the priestess made her stand up straight and peered into her face. Calal knew she was still a mess from having jumped between the orc slave and the priestess. The stench of orc blood clung to her like a putrid perfume and the cooling streaks of blood had begun drying to her skin.

She could feel the priestess’ nails digging into her flesh as her face was turned to and fro. “And you managed to defeat my enemy with just that old stick?”

“Ye-yes, mis'ress,” said Calal.

“You’ve given me much to think about. Perhaps an even greater token of my appreciation is in order.”

“Das too kind. I's un-unnece--unnezessary, mis'ress. Serving House Kenafin is muh great pleasure. ‘m unwerthy of such an… of a tok--er--such a r'ward, stuttered Calal. The priestess used so many big words and she wanted to sound good for her. Unfortunately, she didn't always know what the right response was. She only knew some of her words from hearing others use them and she didn't exactly know how they were said. Sometimes she wasn't even sure what they meant. But she knew it was what you were supposed to say. You had to be humble and you had to be thankful.

Out of the corner of her eye Calal could see the priestess frown. She had picked the wrong wording. It was often a deadly mistake.

“Are you refusing my gift, child?” asked the priestess, her voice growing cold.

Calal shook her head frantically. “No! No, ’course not, mis'ress. ‘m here fer to serve at yer pleasure!”

There was a long pause. Calal’s pulse thundered in her ears. It seemed to drag on for an eternity.

Then came a haunting giggle that made Calal’s blood run cold.

“I like you,” said the priestess.

Calal forgot how to breathe upon hearing those words. Despite what her mother had warned her of, she had been noticed. It was her duty to protect any priestess with her life, but now she had been singled out. And while it could mean some benefits in the short-term, a priestess’ favor often meant your life would only continue so long as you could maintain her favor. It was the countdown to a death sentence.

How was she to tell her mother of this?

"I like you a lot. An amusing and obedient male."

Calal stood with her head down. She did not risk calling any more attention to herself. 

“I will come and find you tomorrow, child. Make sure you are at the shop when I arrive.”

Calal nodded. “Yes, mis'ress.”

"Mis-tress," the priestess pronounced carefully.

"Yes, mistress," repeated Calal, making sure the sounds were the same. 

"Beautiful. Tomorrow then, child," said Zarriia before she turned and left.


	8. Day 5: Locked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calal has to inform her mother of her encounter with the priestess Zarriia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

Calal hung her head. Any moment her mother would be home. How was she going to tell her about the priestess?

It was bad enough to have to tell her mother about the fact a priestess was making a special trip by the shop to take items. Now, to have to tell her that she had been fool enough to catch the priestess’ eye, that was going to earn her at least a couple dozen lashings.

She paced the stone floor. What could she have done differently? If she had not interfered to save priestess Zarriia from the slave assassin, anyone who witnessed it could have brought the accusation to House Kenafin that she was an accomplice and Calal would have been dragged before them for judgement.

She hadn’t had a choice. To ignore your duty was grounds for torture and/or public execution.

So she had done it. In doing so, however, Calal had ensured that the priestess paid attention to her. Being the object of a priestess’ infatuation meant you were even more vulnerable than usual.

Not only were you subject to doing whatever the priestess wanted, or risk pain and death, but also, any of her rivals that wished to upset her would target you.

And getting a priestess to lose interest in you didn’t help either. If you stopped being entertaining, you were killed.

Was there anything that she could have done? There was nothing she could think of.

Still, she was going to be punished for her decision. Calal hadn’t been left a real choice, but she was going to be treated like she had chosen wrong. That’s always how it happened.

The only way to have gotten out of the situation would have been if she was at another location at the time of the attempted assassination. Or if she had taken the poisoned blade in a vital organ.

Calal did not know what to expect from the priestess, but she knew she was stuck now. She was at the priestess’ mercy. Whatever a priestess wanted, she got. And if the priestess decided she wanted Calal, then Calal would be the property of the priestess. It was as simple as that.

She felt like she was in a holding cell, waiting to hear the verdict. She knew that the sentence was going to be bad. It was going to be severe. It was just a matter of to what degree. Even her mother would have to be careful, if the priestess chose to take Calal with her, then she would want Calal as untouched as possible. Calal would no longer be her mother's property, but that of the priestess. Which would mean that even her mother would be bound to the priestess' whims in what she did.

They were all trapped in this. All caught by their place in society. Locked into rolls for which they were left little choice. If she was lucky, the priestess would only wish to use Calal for some sort of task before returning her to her family. It was a long shot, but Calal kept out hope.


	9. Day 12: Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calal prepares to start her life with the priestess Zarriia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

Calal’s mother ran the brush through Calal’s hair, pulling too hard. She did not seem to care about the tangles she was ripping through.

Despite this, Calal sat in silence, her eyes watered at the sharp pulls of the brush on her scalp, but she did not dare complain. Her mother was more cross than she had ever been at Calal. It was best not to upset her when she was in such a mood.

“An’ you’ve finished yer chores? Yer sure ‘a that, Calal?” asked her mother, voice barely disguising her rage.

“Yes, mother,” Calal answered quietly.

“Yer mumblin’ ‘gain! I told youse too many times ‘bout that youse stupid boy!”

Calal was pulled backwards by her hair and thrown up against the wall. “I’d beat youse right now if that priestess dunt want youse unbloodied when youse are ‘anded over. Next son I ‘ave, I’mma make sure ‘e aren’t as dim as youse. I’ll beat ‘im more so ‘e dun forget ‘ow to be a good male.”

Calal lowered her head. She felt so guilty about bringing this on her mother. It was bad enough that her parents had been struggling to have another child, but at least if Calal was there, she could have helped by looking after it.

Now though, a hand short with the shop, her parents would have to try and raise a new child while taking on the chores Calal couldn’t do. Her parents were going to struggle. It was all her fault. She had let herself be seen, she had stood out. And now she was going to the priestess for her mistake.

“Turn ‘round, Calal. I ‘ave to finish fixin’ yer ‘air.”

Calal did as she was told. She did not want to cause any more trouble. Her mother could only really scream at her, the priestess wanting a fresh canvas of flesh to start with.

She had not slept the night before. How could she? Her mother spent the night intermittently working on making a replacement child and taking out her anger on Calal’s father. The sounds of her father’s cries as her mother’s switch struck his flesh still rang in the echoes of her mind.

She could not look her father in the face the next morning. Even though she knew it would be the last time to see him, she could not bare to do so while he prepared to leave for the day.

Calal knew it was her fault he had taken such a long beating. Her mother would blame him for creating such a child. Calal only hoped that whatever younger siblings her parents had, they would be less of a disappointment to their parents.

Calal’s mother finished brushing and oiling her hair. Then she arranged it into a neat, high ponytail, tying it back with some of the fine braided silk they had recently acquired through trade. Calal had never been dressed as finely as she was now. A fresh silk tunic and trousers, and a pair of good boots.

She felt awful about it. It was even more that her parents were losing on her behalf. But you couldn’t hand over anything to a priestess unless it was presented finely. She had been wrapped in silk, like so many of the packages of mushrooms and poisons the priestesses took before.

Her mother pulled out a stool and made her sit upon it. “Now, youse represent our shop, Calal. Youse be a good boy. Youse do whatever yer mistress ask ‘a youse. Better she kill youse than youse dun do as she say, youse ‘ear me, Calal?”

Calal nodded. Her mother was starting to sound more scared than angry now and Calal found that she desperately did not want to leave the shop. She was going to miss her mother’s care. She would miss the way her father had shown her how to serve a female proudly. What was she going to do without the family who had done so much for her? A part of her wanted to cry, though she would hardly show further signs of weakness in front of her mother now. Not when already she was causing so much trouble and pain. “Yes, mother.”

“Good. Now, sit up.”

Calal straightened on the stool, her mother walking around her and tugging straight a hem here, brushing off a bit of fuzz there.

All Calal could do was continue to try and breathe normally, to try and remain calm. She had no idea what living with a priestess would be like. She knew it would be far more demanding and dangerous, but she had no idea what the priestess would want of her. 

The sound of the bone chime over the door alerted them a customer had entered the shop.

“Micarraema,” came the sultry voice of the priestess Zarriia. Amethysts sparkled in the circlet on her delicate brow, a curled smile rested upon her painted lips.

Calal’s mother turned and bowed at the priestess. “Mistress, youse bless ‘r ‘umble shop wiff ‘ur presunce.”

Zarriia approached the stool where Calal sat. Calal made sure she kept her eyes cast downwards. “Let me inspect the male.”

Calal’s mother bowed. “Please, take aw’ll the time youse need, Mistress. If’n youse like, youse can use ‘r room in tha back. The boy can shows youse if’n youse like.”

“Oh, splendid,” said Zarriia as she looked down into Calal’s face.

Calal kept her gaze fixed on the floor and waited to be spoken to.

“Take me to this back room. I want to get a full look at you.”

Calal nodded and bowed. Then she gently rose to her feet and opened the door that lead up the stairs to the back room. She waited while Zarriia went ahead of her and headed up the stairs. She followed the priestess into the family bedroom. Well, now it was just her parent’s bedroom. The curtain that once sectioned off her corner of the room was no longer up, it had been taken down and her bed rolled up and put into storage. Nothing in the room that signified that Calal had ever lived there still remained. It was as though she had never been a part of her family. Her presence in the room the only signal that she was in any way related to her parents.

Zarriia sat down in a chair that had been set out in the center of the room and motioned for Calal to come over to her.

Calal came and stood before Zarriia, keeping her head bowed.

“Remove your clothing, I want to check your health and proportions.”

Calal nodded and carefully removed the tunic her mother had so carefully gotten her into. Then she unlaced her boots, setting them aside so she could step out of her trousers and undergarments.

Zarriia spent a while looking her up and down. “Turn around.”

Calal turned slowly until she was facing away from Zarriia.

“Very good. Turn back around.”

Calal turned slowly back towards Zarriia.

“Remind me, what is your name, male?”

“Calal, mistress,” said Calal slowly, careful of her tone and to pronounce the word in the way her mistress had taught her to say it.

Zarriia stood. In her boots she was taller than Calal, looking down at her. “And in my service, what are you prepared to do, Calal?”

“Anything youse askah me, mistress,” replied Calal. She hoped it was the correct answer. She knew that if she answered poorly, the priestess could end her life right then and there.

A smile crossed Zarriia’s lips and her long spiderweb patterned earrings tinkled pleasantly as she chuckled. “Good, good. Your mother has taught you well then, Calal. I expect my males to follow every order to the letter. Do you understand?”

She nodded, her head still lowered. “Yes, mistress.”

“Let us test that then,” said Zarriia, taking a cat o’ nine-tails from her belt. “I want you to lay face down on the bed and not make a sound, no matter what happens, until I tell you that you can.”

Calal moved to the bed. “Yes, mistress,” she said as she laid down. She was grateful she would be face down where she could try and muffle any sounds. This was her first task and she was determined to do it properly. If she passed this test, she might well be deemed ready for serving the Lady Zarriia. She had to concentrate on success. The price of failure was too much to think about.


	10. Day 15: Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia moves into her room at priestess Zarria's House Kenafin estate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

“Your bed is right through there. You will be kept close at hand in case I have any need of you in the night,” explained Zarriia motioning to a door off the side of her grandly furnished chambers.

Calal’s ears perked up at the sound. She had not expected to have a room of her own. She had spent her entire life sharing one room with her parents, only a thick cloth separating them. The freedom that came with having real walls to separate her from others, the joy of privacy, these were not things she had expected of herself.

“You may set your things down and return to me. After all, this is your new home, Calal.”

The thought had not yet solidified in her mind. This was her new home. Possibly the last home she would ever have in her whole life. A room of her own in one of House Kenafin’s mansions. Instead of a narrow, barren shop house, she had come here, to the vast halls, adorned with finery from across the Underdark or plundered from the surface. Not only were there family members, but also servants and slaves, bustling here and there in their business from room to room.

Calal went into the room, taking in the reality of having her own space. Sure, it wasn’t hers, they would never let anyone male born own anything of their own, but it was hers to use. A space that she could breathe in. She shut the door behind her, an actual door!

There was so much furniture. Back with her parents, Calal had a small bed on the floor, a candle, and a little shelf carved out of the wall.

Here with Zarriia, she had so much more! She had a stone bed. A real bed, one larger than just the width of her body. It had fine covers. Even sheets.

She had no shelves, but she had a dresser. When she opened the drawers and took a look inside, it was already filled with neatly folded clothing, nicer than any of the clothes she wore before today.

Calal set down her small pack on top of a chair in the corner of the room. Then she went and laid down. She immediately sat up, the lashing on her back still stinging from earlier that day. She turned onto her stomach. There were so many pillows. She put her head down on one. They were such plush pillows, too.

Instead of the usual smell of mushrooms and their spores, this room smelled of sweet spices and perfume. It felt warmer and softer than Calal had ever imagined a room could.

She rubbed her face against the soft furnishings. They felt so nice against her cheeks and ears. Calal breathed in the fragrance, pulling one of the extra pillows to her chest. If she had to call anywhere her new home, this was as good as she could ever hope to get.

“Calal, are you finished?”

Calal sat bolt up and hurried to the door, opening it. “Yes, mistress.”

“Good, I have a job for you.”

“Yes, mistress,” said Calal.

Zarriia put a hand on Calal’s neck and ran her fingers up the side of Calal’s face, over her ears, and up into her hair. “You’re such a handsome male, Calal. I am so pleased to have you as my own.”

“Thank youse, mistress. ‘m honored youse chose me.”

Zarriia pulled Calal’s face up to face her. Calal quickly averted her eyes.

“Look at me, Calal,” said Zarria, gently. It was gentle, but it was clearly a command.

Calal hesitantly lifted her gaze to meet her mistress’. For the first time she saw just how deep red and lovely Zarriia’s eyes were. It took her breath away.

“Very good. If you serve me well you may continue to stay here forever. I will reward you with a fine life, you will be able to experience things that someone born to your life could never dream of.” Zarriia leaned in close, her breath warm against Calal’s ear. “I will treat you to pleasures males almost never receive. So long as you please and obey me, you will be provided well for. Do you understand?”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She felt a fearful chill overtake and the blood rush to her cheeks and ears. And yet she could also feel her body moving to her mistress’ will. Was that not what her purpose was?

“Yes, mistress. I ‘m honured.”

“Good boy,” said Zarriia and bit Calal’s ear.

She winced at the pain, but made no noise. She did not wish to upset her mistress further. 

“Still good at holding your tongue, I see. Well, no worries. When we are at home, unless I tell you otherwise, I want to hear you if you are in pain. It will let me know where your limits are.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Good. Now it’s time to discuss this job. Afterwards I will have you healed and then we will begin to test your limits.”


	11. Day 7: Bored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calal passes the time as she waits for her priestess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

Calal’s life when the Lady Zarriia had decided to take her as was different than Calal thought it would be. She had expected that she was going to just be a servant running errands with the occasional tutor or trip to Sorcere.

Instead, Calal spent her mornings catering to her priestess’ every whim, no matter how trivial or how devious. When her mistress’ appetite was sated, Calal helped her priestess prepare to go out, dressing Lady Zarriia in the black and red robes of an acolyte. She carried Zarriia’s belongings when the priestess went to Arach-Tinilith for instruction.

It had not occurred to Calal when her Lady Zarriia had asked Calal’s parents to hand her over, that the priestess might not have completed her training yet. Not that it would have made a difference. Zarriia was still a noble. And when a noblewoman asked for a commoner, she got them. Particularly a noble who was in the service of their goddess.

Once Zarriia was settled into her work, Calal would head to the western part of Tier Breche to “the Tower”, to Sorcere for her own instruction.

She did not particularly care for Sorcere. The bustle and noise was fine in the anonymity of the city, but the few commoners and a huge swath of nobles all vying to prove their worth over one another was too much. All the nobles had their own groups, banding together in order to further their own interests. Many of the commoners also formed loose groups to defend themselves against the nobles. Both groups sought to make examples of those not a part of their own group, and Calal had no interest in joining anyone. It made her less of a target for the infighting, but fair game to everyone.

Calal always breathed a sigh of relief when she got to step out of the Tower. As long as she did not make any trouble, she could count on being left alone. With such important residents and organizations housed in Tier Breche, the guards in the area generally kept anyone from trying to kill one another.

So Calal would wait outside the gate of Arach-Tinilith and finally be able to breathe. She was not allowed to do anything while she waited. The guards would punish any suspicious behavior they saw. And it was illegal for Calal to enter Arach-Tinilith without being summoned to do so, with death by flaying or quartering being the punishment.

She always made sure to sit just close enough to the entrance that she could approach the door when given the summons from her mistress. She would sit and think about what sorts of lessons her mistress might be taking. Calal liked to imagine that one of the courses was taught by a talking spider. That one would obviously be on the proper technique to address prayers. Or maybe just on how to treat spiders properly.

She liked to think that the priestesses danced in beautiful gowns made of spider silk. That they had huge banquets that not only had huge platters of raw and wriggling fish and mushroom sauce, but even fresh meats brought in from abroad. Maybe one of those strange fat birds from the surface. Or maybe a horse! She enjoyed wondering if Lolth might come down to give her personal blessing on those who completed their training and pledged their service to her.

As entertaining as the thoughts were, they could only sustain but for so long.

Serving a priestess, even one in training, meant you had to be able to live in your head a lot. To come up with ways to stave off boredom. It was something that Calal had had a lot of practice with when gathering or grinding bag after bag of various mushrooms. The poisons were all secret formulas that her mother did not trust to pass down, so she was left to prepare ingredients and then label them. Without any living siblings, it meant that Calal always had a lot of work to do on her own.

The doors opened.

Calal stood as she waited to see if she was being called.

“The presence of Shi’nafein, servant of acolyte Iimaere of House Duskryn is requested. Please approach and present your papers and your token of proof.“

A male dressed in a full suit of armor stepped up to the woman and handed over papers and showed his hand for her inspection. He waited until she nodded and gestured for him to enter.

“The presence of Calal, servant of acolyte Zarriia of House Kenafin is requested. Please approach and present your papers and your token of proof.”

Calal walked to the door. She handed over her written letter of service and then lifted the pendant from within her tunic and showed it to the messenger.

The woman looked everything over and then waved Calal inside.

Calal was so relieved. She had been running out of words that rhymed with mushroom.


	12. Day 6: Skill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calal's training at Sorcere isn't always as enlightening as she would hope. Sometimes it reveals more about her own mind than she would care for it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

“Again, Calal,” said the elderly drow, his silver hair hung in wispy strands around his face, as though it refused to be tamed by the leather band that kept the rest of it in a ponytail.

Calal nodded. “Yes, ‘ir,” she said readying her apprentice rod.

The elderly man frowned deeply at her, motioning at her with his staff. “What did I say about your words?”

“I ‘ave to–I have to pronunce each lettah–er.”

He shook his head as though she was a hopeless case. “Just try the spell again.”

“Yessir,” said Calal looking at the target. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then recited the spell in her head before releasing it.

A purple ball of fire shot from her wand and spiraled towards the target at the other end, slamming into it’s chest.

“No! No, no, no,” scolded the man, striking the back of Calal’s hands with his staff. “If you waste all that time with letting it spin around and around like that, your opponent will have the time to dodge out of the way. You must do it straightforward. Fast. Precise.”

“Yessir,” Calal said.

“Yes, sir,” the man pronounced carefully.

“Yes,” Calal made sure she put the pause before she finished, “sir.”

“Much better. We will make you sound like you weren’t simply dragged off the streets. Eventually.”

Calal stared at her teacher, knowing she could say nothing to this. Master Malrak did not accept any excuses and he did not particular care for commoners. Not that he cared much more for the nobility. Calal wondered if there was anything other than misery of his students that the old master enjoyed.

“Of course, with illiterate idiots it does take a lot of time. But have no fear, I am a patient man. I have seen the barbarically uncouth and impulsive ways your kind conducts themselves. I know how to correct it.”

Calal remained silent, biting her lip as he continued to insult her. She was hardly a slave or an animal. She was a Drow. She wasn't even a particularly poor or dim or ungifted one at that. But it never made much difference to Master Malrak.

“Well, go ahead. I don’t have all day. Eventually I have to get back to working with students of talent. It’s always a treat to teach those with both manners and some skill.”

Calal knew he was her better and that she could do nothing about it. Yet it was so tempting to cause him pain. She would like nothing better than to snap his brittle old neck like a twig.

“Yes… sir,” she said, turning her attention back to her magic. She decided to channel her anger into her spell. It could be dangerous to do so, she had been warned, but Calal was furious. She was so fed up at being insulted and having to hold her tongue. She did better than more than half of the nobles who joined the same time as her, but all the teachers treated her like she was incompetent because they said she couldn’t speak right. Or because she couldn’t read. She and the other commoners were put in a course run by one of their own peers, who taunted and yelled or laughed at them every time them misread a word or pronounced it incorrectly.

She was so angry at everyone at Sorcere, but her mistress had enrolled her and she could not refuse. She could not do anything that would reflect poorly on Lady Zarriia. She could not say or do as she pleased. Not here. Not ever. 

As Calal pointed her rod towards the figure at the other end of the hall, she pictured it was Master Malrak. The frail bodied, cruel teacher with his crooked sneer and his too-long, curled, yellow fingernails.

There was a creaking sound from the wood of her wand. The sound was not normal, nor was it something she had yet heard before.

Suddenly a barrage of purple flame poured from the end of her wand. It came like a wave, swallowing the target in an inferno of raging fire.

And it did not diminish. More and more flames shot from the end of her wand, crashing in surge after surge upon the figure. The entire end of the hall a violet swirling mass, tongues of fire licking up the stone walls. The tapestries on the walls of the corridor smoldering and catching.

“Calal!” yelled the old man.

Calal turned to him, the fire still streaming freely from the end of her wand, the wood looked as though it was starting to split. She knew that he was going to say something nasty, so she ceased her spell before he could feel she proved his point. Flames swirled around the target for a few seconds as the fires died out.

“Y-yo-you have no control!” he cried, his voice wavering.

Calal lowered her wand. “My apology, sir,” she said, letting a touch of threat into her voice. “It will not happen again.”

The old man tugged down the front of his robes. “Very well. See that it doesn’t.”

Calal had to keep herself from smiling. A part of her knew she should not have done it, but it just felt so good. If he was going to call her a savage, she would show him just how savage she could be. If she didn’t need him to prepare for her next level of exams, she would have slipped him one of the poisons she brought from home. It might be willful and disobedient, but somewhere, somehow, she had to let her real self show. A person could only bottle all of that but so long before it would come out.

She bowed to Master Malrak before turning and heading back down the corridor. As she walked through the halls passed other students, chatting to one another about assignments or lectures, she felt that isolation again. Calal knew that she simply wasn't like the others. Maybe she wasn't as smart as she thought. Maybe she wasn't as skilled either.

Calal was starting to feel guilty for her outburst. What had gotten into her? Master Malrak was one of the finest teachers in the Tower. If she upset him there was no telling what the consequences might be on her continued education. And what would her mistress think if she heard about that lesson? Would Lady Zarriia punish her severely? Dismiss Calal from her services?

She couldn't risk that. She had to get herself together. Calal determined that she was going to study more. To work harder. No matter what anyone said, she had to do well. She had to impress. She needed to be able to do whatever her mistress required. And the only way to do that was to get better with magic. If she had to sacrifice a classmate to demon to improve, then so be it. But succeeding was key. She would become a great wizard, no matter the cost. 


	13. Day 17: Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just have to feed life's problems to the dogs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

Calal answered the summons at the door. She had barely a chance to see who it was when a voice thundered out at her.

“Where your mistress?” 

Calal looked up and up and up, facing the towering figure, nearly double her height. A slave. His fur covered body and putrid smell betrayed his hobgoblin nature.

“’oo wants ‘a know? It’s bold ‘a youse juss comin’ ‘a my mistress’s door, Slave. What’n youse want?” asked Calal, trying not to let herself be intimidated by the bugbear.

The slave lowered his head to be closer to eye level with her. His rancid breath was hot across her face. “Spider she-priest Brizda. Says Zrevtaok find spider she-priest Zarriia for talk. Very angry. Zrevtaok need show spider she-priest how angry.”

Calal wrinkled her nose and put her ears back flat against her head. “Youse came ‘ere ‘a threaten my mistress?” Her hand slid to the wand at her side. As poorly as bugbears spoke, they were deceptively clever creatures. Her studies at Sorcere had revealed them to be wicked tacticians. In the wild they were vicious foes. She had to be careful. If she gave him the opportunity to see her coming, he could probably rip her apart before she finished getting off her spell.

“Where your mistress?” Zrevtaok asked again.

Calal thought quickly she did not want to risk letting the bugbear into the house any further. If she could just get him to leave, then she might be able to stand a chance.

“She’s not in. She–”

Zrevtaok took another step towards her. “Take Zrevtaok now!”

Calal had to be careful with her breathing, careful not to let her body shake. “Youse don’t ‘aftah yell! This way.” She brushed past the slave and out into the courtyard. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure he was following her as she made her way around to the back of the house. The bugbear lumbered behind her.

Behind the main house, was a door that lead downward, a large sliding bar lay across the top.

“She’s down ‘ere. But my mistress says she cann’t be disturbed while she works.”

The slave pushed Calal against the door. “Open.”

Calal stood to her full height. “Now youse listen ‘ere! I don’t ans’er a’ youse or yer mistress! Youse a slave! Yer below me. Youse have no rightah lay a hand on me. Youse can tell yer mistress my mistress was too busy ‘a see youse. Now youse better go on, ‘fore I calls the House guard on youse.”

The bugbear snarled at her. And grabbed the bar on the door, sliding it.

“Stop that! Youse gonna regret it if youse go down there an disturb my mistress.”

Zrevtaok laughed. “Order from she-master is like stone. Zrevtaok follow. Kill any in way.”

Calal pulled out her wand. “Youse get away from that door!”

A large, hairy, clawed hand swatted Calal as she let off a splash of purple flames. The bugbear yelped but brushed its burning fur on the ground until it went out.

“Stay away!” cried Calal.

The bugbear threw open the door and raced down the steps into the dark.

Calal jumped at the door, taking the handle firmly in one hand. Then she cast darkfire on the bugbear, illuminating it in the darkness, and slammed the door and the metal slider shut. Then she shoved her magic wand into the mechanism so it wouldn’t open. She knew she had limited time, a bugbear could probably break her wand if she didn’t find something better to keep it shut.

She ran frantically around the side of the house. She needed a way to keep the slave shut down there until she could get help. She tripped over a pile of metal gate posts that were assembled for the new back gate. She hit the pile hard as she fell onto it.

Calal got back up to her feet and grabbed one post up in each hand, ignoring as best she could the sting of her split knees. She ran as fast as she could, every step hurting worse and worse.

When she got back to the door, she could see a pale purple glow from underneath and hear the bugbear shouting his threats as he rattled the door. She pulled her wand back out of the door and shoved the metal post through the latch mechanism instead. Calal only hoped that, in combination with the bar, it would hold

She ran back inside, calling for one of House Kenafin’s guards. They looked down their noses at her. They were nobles chosen to see to the safety of the household and a bleeding, screaming commoner, even if serving the same family, was a lesser concern to them.

“I’s trapped a slave in the pen with the Cavvekan,” Calal said, trying to stress the urgency of what she needed.

“I hope your mistress didn’t care for that particular slave then. A cruel thing if twas not under her order. You best be careful. I will happily report your actions to Lady Zarriia. Maybe she will even allow me the joy of pouring acid on your flesh and watching you dance in pain.”

Calal hated the guard. They refused to ever take her seriously and they always talked about how they wanted to torture her. They hated commoners almost as much as the rest of society hated sun elves. She was so frustrated by the fact that, particularly the male guards, seemed to delight in dismissing her and what she did.

Sure, Calal was used to being put down for being a common male, but this was clearly a case where the safety of the House was at stake.

“It ain’t the mistress’ slave, i's Priestess Brizda‘s slave an he’s wantin’ a’ hurt Lady Zarriia!”

The guard’s head snapped to an expression of seriousness. He rung his bone whistle for other guards to assemble and motioned at Calal. “Well, go on boy! Show me what you’ve managed to do.”

Calal did not say anything more, but led the way to the door around back. The metal door was being heavily pounded on and the bugbear’s angry roars were almost as deafening as they were terrifying.

“Go find the Lady Zarriia and let her know the situation. We will subdue the slave as much as necessary. Let us see what she would like us to do with it. If the cavvekan don't eat him first.”

Calal nodded and hurried back inside and up to the study where she knew her mistress was bathing. She knocked lightly on the door.

“Who dares disturb my bath!”

Calal swallowed hard. “I’s yer ‘umble servant, Calal, Mistress. We ‘ave a slave a’ Priestess Brizda ‘ere.”

Before she could finish Zarriia’s voice cut her off. “I could care less what that emotional tart’s slave wants. Tell him to move along or he will become a new cover for my bed.”

Calal sighed. Every time she tried to explain something it was this same thing over and over again. “Yes, Mistress. I did try ‘a do that. He made a threat an’ I got ‘im locked in ‘a pen with ‘a Cavvekan. ‘e’s tryin’ a’ break out. ‘e’s a bugbear.”

There was momentary silence, then the sound of water sloshing. “I take it you informed the guard?”

“Yes, Mistress,” answered Calal.

“They await my orders?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

There was a deep sigh. “Very well. Tell the guard to subdue this beast and shackle it. Also, make sure that my knives are sharp and the whips are tipped in acid. I want them waiting in the room for when they bring me the slave. I have been saying I was in need of a game this afternoon. How fortuitous.”

Calal smiled. Maybe she had managed to do well after all. “Yes, mistress. 'll see to it right a'way.”


	14. Day 14: What is Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calal has some feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

“Do you have it for me, Calal?” asked Zarriia in a sing-song tone.

Calal nodded. “I do, Mistress. The seamstress finally finished the last of the details this morning.”

Gently, Calal approached her mistress and held out the large ebony and silver gilded box. Zarriia snatched it up and examined its finery for a moment before she laid it in her lap and opened the lid.

“By the Goddess! It is exquisite!” cried Zarriia gleefully.

“As requested,” said Calal softly, “I made sure that she added the House buttons and embroidered the crest along the carapace of each of the spiders.”

Zarriia turned to Calal with wide eyes, then pulled the dress from its box, closely inspecting the trim. “Are these eyes set in amethysts?”

“Yes, mistress. I know they are your favorite.”

Zarriia set her things down and stood, walking to Calal and taking her hand. “I think you’ve managed yourself a reward for your attention to detail. As my favorite male I think it is time that you take on more responsibility.”

Calal was proud of having pleased her mistress. Nothing in life brought her greater joy than feeling useful. She gladly followed Zarriia’s lead away from the parlor.

“I had thought you would merely remain my concubine, perhaps even earn a chance to be a part of my personal guard. And while I still am looking for that to be your path after the completion of your proper education, I have considered that you should also receive a higher honor. Starting today, you have earned the honor of siring some of my children.”

If Calal hadn’t caught herself she would have stopped dead in her tracks. Her mouth worked silently for a moment before she could make herself speak. “Mistress, you honor me more greatly than I deserve.”

“Perhaps,” said Zarriia with a playful smile, “but that is for me to decide.”

Zarriia lead Calal to her grand bedroom and let go of Calal’s hand. “I am going to try on my new dress and finish attending to my last letter for our Matron Mother. Get yourself cleaned up and be ready for me when I return. You shall have your first opportunity to contribute to the future of House Kenafin. Continue to please me and your opportunities shall increase.”

Calal bowed. “As you command, mistress.”

With that, Zarriia left, shutting the door behind her.

Calal’s head shot back up. Never did she think she would be given such an opportunity. To be chosen to contribute your seed by a new priestess was one of the highest honors a male could receive. Even more so since Calal was not noble born. Everyone knew that a female chose her males based on how good a child she thought they could produce. Would they be strong, would they be clever, and would they be beautiful? These were the primary concerns when seeking out a mate, not just for a male to please you.

She felt a warmth swell in her chest. While she had looked after her mistress, she had not realized that Zarriia had taken such a liking to her. It was the most special Calal had ever felt. There was some emotion she was feeling, but she did not know what it was called or how to describe it, but they seemed to fill her chest and threaten to burst forth.

Calal immediately set about bathing. She did not want to disappoint her mistress, particularly during the first chance she had at such an opportunity. She wanted so badly to impress, to bring Zarriia every possible pleasure. She wanted to prove that she was worthy of the position she was being elevated to.

Calal had never been with a female in this way before. Zarriia had been the first to have laid a claim on her. And while she had done a variety of things to bring her mistress to release, it was rare that she had been given an opportunity to reach her own. With this new position, she would be allowed to reach that point. It was an exciting prospect.

She had no idea what the future might hold for her, but she knew that, should her mother hear of it, she would be proud. Her father might even be rewarded for producing a child who was given such an honor. It might help the family business. Any future sons might be considered by other priestesses looking for a male of their own. And it would mean good futures for any daughters too. A sign that they would be strong citizens capable of guiding their male offspring to serve the women they belonged to. 

As Calal laid back upon Zarriia’s bed and waited for the priestess’ return, she thought about how, despite all the frightening ways her life could have turned out, everything was going surprisingly well. She was given an education rarely afforded to those of her class, recognized for her talents by a beautiful and capable priestess, and been promoted to high standing in a relatively short amount of time. Even at such a young age, she had managed to serve and receive some of the most coveted roles a male could dream of, noble or common.

When at last the door opened and she looked up into the crimson gaze of her priestess, she felt nothing but that same warmth spread throughout her. This was her purpose. The goddess had given her the chance to make amends, and for her service, she was being rewarded in the best possible way.

“Come, Calal. I am ready.”


	15. Day 28: Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calal comes close to death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

The blow had come, hard and sure, cutting through her with the force of a wall crashing into her.

Calal felt the the breath leave her and her lungs felt as though they had deflated for good. She gasped, trying to get air, but nothing would come.

She had not registered the pain at first, the shock of the dagger penetrating her chest enough to daze her. She could only tighten her grasp on the attacker. She may not have recognized the female’s face, but she had seen the family crest upon the hilt of the blade that was now firmly lodged in her.

The female attacker struggled, trying to push Calal off, but Calal was determined to use the last of her strength to stay clutched to the assailant's shoulders. Calal's heart rate was surging, even as she tried not to move too greatly.

The assassin tried to wretch the knife from Calal, but Calal only pulled the female closer. She would not let anyone hurt her mistress. She would see to Zarriia’s safety. It was her duty above all else. Above her own life.

The assassin began to claw at Calal, desperately trying to free herself. But Calal did not move, even as she felt fingernails tearing her arms. It was nothing compared to the pain that was radiating from her chest back into her shoulder and into her back. 

It took a moment to break through the pain before Calal could see just what had the assassin frightened. Shadow spiders began crawling up her limbs. They scuttled about, all covering the female in Calal’s grasp. Then they began to weave silk, careful only to cover their target, leaving Calal alone.

And as soon as the assassin was immobilized, they all began to sink their fangs into her, covering her in countless poisonous bites.

Being so close, the screams of the assassin reverberated through Calal’s chest, as well as in her ears. She could even feel the vibrations moving the dagger within her chest.

A fraction at a time, Calal loosened her grasp, the assassin eventually dropping to the ground, un-moving. 

Zarriia walked around to face the would-be killer. She had her scorpion whip raised in one hand. “You dare try to kill me with such mediocrity?! Your mistress should have had you culled before bothering to send you after me. Alas, you will never be able to tell her of your failure. Though I will make sure to return your mutilated body to your mistress’ house. Though perhaps I will give your skull to my cavvekan to play with. They do so love chewing on bones.”

Calal smiled. Zarriia was safe and had paralyzed the danger. It meant she had done her duty as a servant of House Kenafin. She had succeed. Her job here was done. And she could be happy in the knowledge that--that–

The world went black around her. Cold and black.

For a moment, Calal felt as though she could hear voices, or just one voice. It felt so familiar, so warm. Yet she could see nothing.

Then a wave of darkness wrapped itself around Calal. She felt as though she was stuck in a large, icy, black lake, the water ever rising, and she was unable to swim. She tried to move her arms, but they were being pulled down. A numbness was climbing up to her neck and she thought she might drown.

“Calal!”

She tried to move her limbs again, but they would not listen.

“Calal, return to me! I order you!”

It was her mistress, Zarriia. She had to obey.

Calal thrashed as much as she could, trying to get her head to stay above water.

“Calal! Come back to me. Now!”

Her eyes opened and she gasped. There was a wheezing sound and it felt as though she was breathing through mud. Had she been devoid of air for a very long time? Calal felt like she had just gotten her head above water after being under longer than she could hold her breath. She coughed and a spurt of blood came up. She tried to cover her mouth, but her arms didn't fully obey her.

A hand patted Calal on the back and wiped up the blood. Calal lifted her head to try and breathe easier and Zarriia’s face was there. For a moment, Calal was so thankful, she did not look away. Then she remembered herself and cast her glance downwards. “Yes, mistress,” she said. Her voice sounded small, distant, raspy.

Zarriia grabbed Calal’s cheeks and planted a kiss upon her lips. “Praise the Goddess! It worked.”

Calal tried to move again, but her limbs were still so heavy they would not obey.

“The assassin, is she gone, Mistress?” Calal gasped.

Zarriia chuckled. “Oh, yes. I made sure to dispatch of her. Rest a moment until your strength is returned. You have only just been healed and given the nature of the injury, it may take you time to regain yourself.”

Calal was confused at first. “Healed, Mistress?”

“Do you not recall? You took a poisoned knife to the lung for me.”

Her eyelids were so heavy, it was difficult to keep them from falling immediately closed. “Your safety, Mistress, ‘s all I care about,” said Calal, gasping in between every other word.

“Yes, you are a very good and obedient male, Calal,” Zarriia said, waving her hand about. “This is why you continue to be my favorite, jumping before every danger meant for me. It is why I have decided to heal you. Though it was nearly too late. The poison was fast acting.”

A pins and needles sensation began in Calal’s arms and legs. Even as she tried to move to help the circulation, the tingling and its subsequent pain froze her in place. She could only stay, her limbs locked, as she waited for the sensation to subside. 

“The Goddess smiles upon me and upon you. She has found your loyalty steadfast and rewarded you with your life. Had it gone just a hair’s breadth to the left, you would have died before I could see to you.”

“Thank you, mistress.”

“No need to thank me, Calal. Thank the Goddess for her mercy and reward.”

“Thank you, Dark Mother,” said Calal, wanting to clasp her hands in prayer, but they were still too stiff and clumsy. “And thank you, mistress, for believing in me.”

Zarriia said nothing more, she simply continued to stroke Calal’s hair, placing an occasional kiss upon Calal's face. It was unusual behavior for the priestess, but Calal had never before felt so loved and cared for. She didn’t even know males were allowed to be treated so gently and lovingly. If she had ever had any doubts about her path in life, this was enough for her to know, this was where she belonged.


	16. Day 24: Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calal learns a new spell from a new teacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

“Now to try the new spell," spoke the handsome wizard, raising his staff and slamming it down onto the stone floor, a flash of light spreading out from under the strike, “this time, you will get it right.” This was spoken as though it were a fact, not encouragement.

Calal was excited. While she had been been finding a way to improve her spell craft, she had managed to find a master wizard who was willing to teach her. And while she had been apprehensive about how skilled he might have been for his youthful appearance, a small demonstration had been enough to waylay her fears.

She had met him after finding a book in the library of old tomes. She was still learning to understand written information, but her determination had paid off. There had been a passage about a guide to accelerated magical theory, written by a former member of House Xorlarrin that was kept in the magical items reliquary in the Tower. From what she could understand, the owner had started his life as a mere moderate wizard, but through his dedication to research and study, had managed to become one of Sorcere's masters. She could understand why might be left behind the book when his House had left Menzoberranzan to establish the city of Q'Xorlarrin. Almost certainly it was left to help like minded students at Sorcere.

Calal had decided that somewhere in the contents of the book were bound to be all of the information she would need to finally be able to show everyone that she was worth taking serious.

It had not been easy to find a reason to go into the magical items reliquary. It was mostly forbidden to students. Even the masters were only allowed to access certain sections and by permission only. There were too many dangerous and powerful relics stored to let them fall into the hands of a novice. All she needed was a pass to allow her into the section on ancient tomes. Surely it would be there.

Finally her chance came. Two nobles were complaining about how much they hated the feeling of the ancient tome room. They said there felt as though someone or many someones were watching you as you walked along the catalogue of books. That sometimes it seemed as though there were voices. Knowing she might only have a single opportunity at this, Calal stepped forward. She made as though she were one of the commoners who would run errands for the nobles on the promise of, perhaps one day, being rewarded with a position as an assistant.

"Did I 'ear youse gentlemen 'ere in need of assistance?" Calal asked, making sure to not correct her normal pattern of speech. 

The two noblemen looked at one another and smiled. The taller man with his blonde hair meticulously braided stepped forward. "That's right. Can you read at all, boy?" 

Calal bowed deeply. "I know all me lett'rs, sir. An' 'm good at followin' direct'n."

The second noble, his white hair plaited to one side over his shoulder, put a hand on Calal's shoulder. "And what would you be getting out of this.....?"

"Bhinaufein," said Calal, lying about her name. "An' I live up to me name, sirs. All I ask in returns s'that youse consider my skills when you're lookin' a' hire staff at yer 'omes."

"Ah, the ambitious sort of fellow. Yes, we know your type well, Bhinaufein. I'll make you a deal," said the first noble, "you run off to the items reliquary and retrieve this old tome for my master and deliver it to my room, number 611 in the west tower. If you do so swiftly and without issue, I will consider recommending you for a position with House Hunzrin. I assume you've no current House affiliation?"

"You 're very kind, sir. I 'ave not been so lucky as ta have found meself a sponsor House. I'd be 'onored if you'd be sa kinda as ta cons'der me." Calal bowed her head.

The noblemen laughed at her, but the blonde one pulled his papers of mark and handed one of them to her. "Good, lad. Now go and fetch my master's book for me. And if you do a good job of it, you might have a future with House Hunzrin."

With another very low bow, Calal took the papers with both hands, holding it as precious. Indeed, for her, this was her pass to actual power, not bending and scrapping for the males of another House. She hurried through the winding corridors of the Tower, down and up various staircases, until at last she came to the door to the magical items reliquary. She took a deep breath as she approached the large doorway covered in magical symbols.

Looking around, she saw a small opening to the side of the door and beyond it, a very tired looking Drow, bent over a half-unrolled scroll.

She rang the small bell and held up her papers. With a deeply squinted look and furrowed brows, the elder gentleman tooked the papers up and down, before he handed them back with a nod. "Head straight down to the last corridor on the left. It will be your fifth door on the right. Don't go in any other room or take anything but what you were sent for. Understand?"

She nodded. The door swung open and Calal stepped inside.

Her heart was racing as she made her way along the long echo-y halls. As the nobles had said, she certainly had the feeling of magic pulsing around her. She was sure it was security to keep the dangerous items safe. It had nothing to do with the prize she was looking for.

At last she came to the door that housed the ancient tomes. She opened it and slipped inside. The small door had given way to a huge library of books. They seemed to be arranged by subject as far as she could tell. She knew she should start by looking for the book for the House Hunzrin noble, but now that she was here, she just wanted to know that the book was here. That it existed.

She looked from section to section for the book. Yet, when she found it, it seemed as though it contained little more than the usual methods of concentration and visualization. Not that it was not full of useful information. It just disappointed her that there was nothing that seemed particularly clever in the writing.

She decided it might be best to give up and simply deliver the nobles their master's request. Calal started to put the book back up on the shelf when a cold breeze blew past the back of her neck, startling her. She dropped the book.

Calal gasped in horror. The book might not have been useful for her, but it was still priceless! She bent over, checking quickly that no real damage had been done. The cover still seemed intact and unscratched, the pages were not bent.

With a sigh of relief, she gently placed the book back into its spot on the shelf. She decided that was enough trying to get herself into mischief and she turned back to the task at hand. But something caught her eye.

On the ground was a highly decorative looking sigil on fine paper. She wondered if it had been used as a bookmark in the volume she had dropped. Well, there was no reason not to try and put it back in the front cover. Who knows if the owner might come back looking for it. She would hardly want to be accused of theft if she was found to have it on her.

As soon as she bent over and picked it up, she felt a small shock of energy. She almost dropped the paper out of instinct, but she set it back in the book and went to try and retrieve the books on the list she had been given.

It did not take her long to understand why the nobles hated being in this place. It felt like everywhere she went, someone was standing just behind her, watching her every move. Every step that echoed on the stone floor sounded as though someone were walking with her. It was an eerie feeling.

She bent down to get a book from one of the lower shelves and noticed something on the ground out of the corner of her eye. Looking over she saw what looked like the same bit of sigil marked paper from before. Was it the same one? Or was someone simply leaving their bookmarks everywhere?

Calal grabbed the book she was looking at and put it on the stack of books in her arms before she picked up the bit of paper. It must be the same one as before, it even had the same bent corner and everything.

She set her stack of books down on one of the small ladders and then took the paper back to the book she had found it in before. She opened the cover and slipped the paper inside one of the first couple of pages.

"Interested in progressing more quickly that Sorcere usually allows?" came a smooth baritone behind her.

Calal spun on her heels and at first saw no one. Then as she turned to put the book back on the shelf, she found herself in a different room. This one was darker. There were no lights, even magical ones, to illuminate it. A cold feeling surrounded her. Before her was a pedestal with a book, or perhaps it was a journal, laid upon it. She blinked at the darkness all around her.

"I can teach you how to weave spells that your teachers will be impressed with. Spells that are far more advanced than most at your level know. I can even teach you forgotten magic. Ancient things your teachers and fellow students will be too cowardly to try."

"Who are you? Why have you brought me here?" asked Calal to the empty darkness. She did not move, not knowing what to believe.

"I have long been a master of illusions here in Sorcere. Though I am most known for teaching advanced magical theory and ancient spells. What is your name, boy?"

"T'ey call me Calal. What do they call youse--er, you?"

"Calal. Yes. I can sense that you have a great curiosity and much potential. You may call me Master Izzinid."

"Master Izzinid, where 'm I and why 'ave you put me 'ere?" Calal tried not to let her fear color her tone.

"To test whether you have the skill to become my pupil. I have grown bored of late and am looking for someone to tutor. If you can complete this task, I will train you in higher magic."

Calal was elated! This was all she ever dreamed of. Finally she could show those around her she was worthy of her place here. "What would you ask of me, Master Izzinid?"

"Do you see the grimoire in front of you, Calal?"

"Yes, sir."

"This is my grimoire," said Master Izzinid. "I have placed within it many hidden things. Secret knowledge I have acquired over the centuries. But I have placed upon it, a magical ward to protect it from prying eyes. Only a few could manage to remove the enchantment and gain access to the grimoire. I am going to tell you how to channel energy in order to have the power to break the enchantment and take the grimoire. If you choose to do this and succeed, I will grant you a wealth of power and knowledge. Do you accept the challenge?"

Calal smiled. "Yes, sir. Show me how and I will prove myself."

"Look at the sigil in your hand. You will draw this symbol on your arm from top to bottom, left to right. I will tell you the ancent words to say."

Calal found that there was suddenly a brush in her one hand and the bookmark from earlier in her other. She looked at the sigil on that same bit of paper she had found twice before, it was becoming so familiar to her now. She traced the symbol along her arm. The ink stung like a blade against her skin, the inkless brush leaving red paint in its wake. The words, she could not fully understand their meaning, the language not one she knew, yet they appeared in her mind as much as she heard them with her ears as she repeated them back.

As she followed Master Izzinid's instructions, she began to feel a pulsing power within her. Sometimes she had been able feel full of magic, usually when she was angry or scared, but now, it was as though the amount of magic that it took to fill her was growing, stretching. It was as though she had been shrunk down very small and someone much, much larger had her sitting on their shoulder, but all the time, both of them were within her body. Yet it was something bigger than she could ever be. She was happy to close her eyes and let herself bask in the new sensation.

It should have been a frightening experience, losing control, letting someone else take it from you when they were not your mistress. But all she felt was warm and secure. It was as though she was finally not quite so alone, not quite so different from everyone. She knew that Master Izzinid understood her in that moment. Knew who she was. What she was. But in a comforting way.

When Calal opened her eyes, she was back in the room with the ancient tomes. The bookmark and its sigil were no longer on the ground. The book it had fallen from, no longer on the shelf. She looked around, but did not see Master Izzinid anywhere. Perhaps, she thought, it was all just a strange dream.

She went to the stack of books and found she had gathered them all, so she headed out of the ancient tomes, out of the reliquary, and to west tower room 611. She left the papers and the books with a scruffy looking servant.

She would have completely forgotten all about Master Izzinid until she had gone to her room at Sorcere. She didn't use the room to stay like the others. She was expected to return to her mistress, but she would study there when she broke her fast. Eating black bread and fish with the occasional Rothe cheese or truffle spread. It was then that she saw, lying on her small desk, the grimoire.

After that, Master Izzinid would often come and knock on her door during Calal's breaks and ask if she wanted to learn something new. Often it would be spells, though other times it would little snippets of information about the goings-on of nobles and how to use it politically. Some information would be modern, other time it would be ancient. There was no doubt that, despite how young Master Izzinid appeared, he was old and wise and powerful.

At times she would even skip group lectures to go and learn with Master Izzinid. With the other students in the lecture halls, the practice areas were vacated and he would ward off the room to keep anyone from being able to enter. She had privacy this way. She also was finally feeling as though she were progressing.

She was always eager to prove to Master Izzinid that she was a worthy pupil. She worked hard for him. He was not always very patient, but his strictness was never directed at her status, never at who she was, only on her abilities. So when he told her she would not make mistakes, even on the spell that had managed to elude her over the past week, she knew that she had to make it work.

Calal lifted her wand, pointing it at the figure at the other end of the room. She would not make any more mistakes. Passing up this rare chance would be worse than a beating.

She concentrated on forming the spell in her mind. It was the most difficult one she had learned thus far. And it was not one she was particularly skilled at yet.

Something sparked at her fingers and she could feel the spell trying to get away from her, to break free. She closed her eyes, focusing on the feel of the magic coursing through her, measuring the scale and force she wanted the spell to be produced within, the way Master Izznid always told her to.

As she released her spell, a violet wave of energy smashed into the mannequin. The painted surface bubbled and peeled. The wood thinned and began to hollow, crumbling to wood dust below the power of the spell.

Calal’s knees buckled from under her from the exertion and she took a moment to catch her breath. She looked up to her master. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Much better than your last attempt. I think you are finally ready to learn the last part of this spell. The one for which it is named.”

Calal smiled with relief and pride. “Yes, ‘ir–er, yes, sir,” she stammered, forcing her shaky legs to hold her weight as she stood again.

“Now, you won’t have the stamina to complete the full spell yet, but I want you to begin to learn.”

Calal nodded and followed her master as he led her back to one of the teaching rooms.

“What you know so far of this spell is its ability to cause severe necrotic damage. Yet this is not the only kind of damage that it is capable of inflicting. Do you know what else it can do, Calal?”

She shook her head. “No, sir.”

“Fetch me the ritual dagger, my boy,” said Master Izzinid . He took a seat upon a high-backed chair.

Calal happily went to the weapons display that stood at the back of the room. She looked in the section of daggers, trying to recall which of them was considered the ritual dagger. She settled on the one which had the greatest number of inscriptions. She was still learning to read the letters and how they formed into words, but she could make out the word divine on it, so she hoped she did not choose incorrectly.

She brought it back and placed it on the table before her teacher.

The debonair Drow took the dagger in his tapered hand and looked it over, thumbing the edge for sharpness. “Very good, Calal. Now, with this spell, you are able to siphon the power of your own companions in order to inflict greater harm upon your enemies. In doing so, you are able to add to the destruction caused by your spell, but also, to add a poisoning effect to the spell. Any you hit with this spell will, unless they have a resistance, continue to suffer the slow creep of poison, should they manage to survive the initial blast of your magic.”

Calal’s eyes widened. She‘d had no idea a single spell could do so much, let alone one that was taught to her. Lolth truly granted those who remained faithful with a wealth of power.

“Calal, focus!”

“Sorry,” she said, trying to keep her attention on her master’s teaching alone.

“Good. Now, you see I have brought in a Rothe there?”

Calal looked at the corner of the room where one of the large beasts of burden was tied by the neck to a rope. It lowed, oblivious to whatever fate might be in store for it, munching on fungi and rubbed one of its horns against the wall. “I do, sir.”

Master Izzinid raised his staff at the beast, then turned in pause. “Let me have your arm, Calal.”

She obediently extended it in his direction.

A searing pain crossed her arm and Calal sucked her teeth as she looked to see a long thin line of blood. Her master’s ritual dagger now coated along the edge with her blood.

Then, from the dagger, a swirl of red light traveled up to the tip of his staff, swirling around it like Darkfire. Then, it shot out towards the rothe, who bucked under its restraint as a wave of red hit its hide and quickly spread across its skin. The fur fell off in clumps, the flesh below paling to a light grey and sloughing off. Muscles turned putrid and liquefied until bone began to show through. 

The rothe kicked and slammed its head against the wall, keening as if to plead for its life.

Calal watched in fascination as the necrotic damage subsided, but the powerful effects of the spell continued.

It took mere moments beyond this for the poor creature to fall lifeless to the ground. It’s normally pink tongue, blackened, lay out of its open mouth. Silence filled the room as the echoing cries died away.

Besides her, the master lowered his staff, sweat beading up upon his furrowed brow. “And there, you see, is how the full spell is cast. Tomorrow we shall have you practice the spell. You shall draw another’s blood for this, but you are not to attempt to cause serious damage. Do you understand?”

Calal nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir. I shall do my best.”

“Do not do your best, unless it is perfection. I will not abide by continued failure,” said Master Izzinid, setting aside the ritual dagger. “Now clean the blade and get back to your letters.”


	17. Day 16: Gossip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calal overhears some interesting and bittersweet news. Some of it at least will prove useful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

“Youse ‘ear, Micarraema finally ‘ad ‘erself a daugh’er?” said a woman walking by with a bucket of water over her shoulder.

The woman beside her shifted her own bucket of water as they walked. “No! Youse jokin’! Lucky girl. God'ess knows ‘ow long she been wantin’ a daugh’er to take o’er ‘er shop. Gotta ‘ave an heir.”

Calal shouldered her pack and pulled it closer to her chest as she walked behind the women up the road, not wishing to seem as though she had overheard or was listening. A part of her was happy that her mother had finally gotten what she wanted. A part of her hurt to know that she was no longer a part of that family. Worse knowing that in her heart, her soul, she knew she was a female, even though there was no way she could ever live that way. Her younger daughter was taking what she had always hoped might one day be hers. This was the final truth, the reminder that despite what she knew of herself, the world did not see her as a female and she would never be able to take a female role in society. Lolth did not want her to do so. And the Goddess’ plan was meant to be followed.

“Yer right." The first woman nodded. "We need'd ta 'ear somethin' good. You know, I feel so bad fer the priestess Brizda right now. I ‘eard she ‘ad to get ridda ‘nother male.”

Brizda? The name peaked Calal’s interest further. She was one of Zarriia’s rivals for a title upon graduating Arach-Tinilith. The two had been battling for the favor of the head of the University.

If Calal could find some information to help her mistress….

“She picks ‘erself the worst males. None ‘a them can get ‘er pregnant, right? ‘ow many she been through? Eight?” asked the second woman like a disappointed aunt.

The first woman shook her head vigorously. “This makes Ten, dunnit? And I ‘ere ‘e gave ‘er sum kinda ill. When she come by me shop, she ‘ad her servants ask sep’rate ‘bout a pultace an’ cream for ‘er condition.”

The second woman’s mouth was agape. “No! Youse kiddin’.”

The first woman shook her head.

The second woman leaned closer to the first. “Well, ‘ow bad is it?”

“It ain’t good, I can tells youse that,” said the first woman. She looked side to side to make sure no one was watching and Calal feigned that she was walking and reading a missive.

“It can be cured,” said the first woman in a hushed tone once she was certain she was not being eavesdropped on, “but youse got ta be real careful. Youse miss a dose or mess the amount and youse can be right back at squares one. I ‘eard a servant say she suspect’d the male was either plant’d with the sickness or ‘e was made sick to get ‘er sick. Messy bus’ness bein’ noble, eh?”

Calal’s ears straightened. This was it! If she could find a way to mess with the dosage, in a way unknown by the other priestess, she would be greatly rewarded.

On the other hand, if she was caught tampering with a priestess’ medicine, she would be drawn and quartered in the bazaar. 

Regardless of the consequences, Calal knew she had to do this. She had to find a way. She had to contaminate the medicine.


	18. Day 27: Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calal proves her capabilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

A volley of acid struck at three places against the stone wall, hissing as it met the rock, each time, just seconds behind the figure moving quickly out of the way.

Calal lifted her wand, then ducked and rolled out of the way of two more volleys. 

She turned her just a moment before diving behind a large rock. A purple wave cast out and onto the other figure.

“Damn you!” ground out Calal’s opponent.

Tendrils of blue shadow started to wrap around the rock Calal hid behind. She knew she couldn’t stay there much longer. She cast darkness around her and then whispered a prayer as she ran towards the wall, an electricity spreading down to her finger tips and toes.

She jumped up on the wall and stuck, then used it to climb the wall to gain a height advantage. Calal pointed her wand at the figure of her opponent and let loose a tirade of purple flame, engulfing the man from above.

He screamed and rolled to the side, casting his own cloud of darkness as Calal’s began to fade. She dove down into his cloud of darkness, this time trying to focus on her opponent’s mind. It was difficult in the dark, but as soon as her hands reached him, it took little for her to bombard his mind, the power of her curse earlier weakening him further to her spells.

The man was slightly taller than she was and he grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her down against the ground, the rough stone grinding into her back. As soon as she felt the pain run through her, she reflected the pain back onto him.

The hold on her shoulders slackened and Calal pulled her knees up and kicked him in the stomach, pushing him away from her. In the darkness, she could only brace herself for the blow that was sure to come and try to move away quickly.

As she leapt, a wave of cold slammed her belly-first into the ground. She winced and turned onto her back so she could cast her next spell. The darkness was dissipating and Calal could make out her opponent’s position as his legs came into view. She knew she was running out of stamina and her best chance was to go for one last big spell, even as a heeled foot came down on one of her feet.

Recalling the big spell her tutor had taught her she focused as best as she could on the size and distance of her spell.

A shot of acid splashed across her leg. She bit her lip, refusing to let the pain stop her, even as the pain spread out, moving up her thigh and down to her toes. She just thought about the way it felt when she properly cast the spell before.

Purple light rushed towards her opponent, catching him before he could try to dodge out of the way. His skin began to boil and liquefy.

The scream he let out chilled Calal to the core. It was the most disturbing sound she had so far heard.

While her opponent was distracted, she needed to act. Master Izzinid had also taught her some rudimentary battle tactics and he said you had to use not just a single spell at a time, but to volley several, not to let your enemy rest even for a moment. You had to pursue with intent, then back off when you needed to rest before going for another series of attacks

Calal wanted to clasp a hand to her burning leg, but stopped, knowing it would only cause the damage to spread to her hand as well. She scooped up a handful of dust and threw it over the wound, trying to stop the pain and neutralize some of the acid. She pulled herself up against the wall and aimed her wand towards her opponent. He thrashed on his back, kicking his legs and holding the scorched and decaying remains of his head and chest. His screams continued

Calal panted, keeping her wand still aimed at the noble, just in case he tried to seek revenge. Her injured leg buckled under her and she fell down the wall, keeping herself braced against it. A strangled cry came from her throat as she hit the floor, but she kept her wand up. She could hear the voice of her mother and her teachers, all of them telling her not to ever show weakness, not to lower your weapon until you were sure your opponent was dead or captured, and definitely, under no circumstances, do you ever show your back to the enemy. 

“That will be enough,” boomed a voice.

All around Calal the scene faded out, shrinking smaller and smaller, until it was but a carved miniature set before her. Sitting across from her, her opponent was still screaming, holding his face with one hand and scrambling to collect invisible entrails back to his abdomen with the other.

An older, but distinguished looking Drow in a wizard’s robe nodded to Calal. “It looks like we have a winner. Very unexpected result, I must say.”

Calal’s opponent seemed to notice the change in his surroundings, letting his hands fall to his side. Shakily he stood and turned to finally see the wizard in front of him. “I could have kept going, master,” he said in a strained voice.

The wizard shook his head. “You were defeated, Alakryn. You had him in a vulnerable position, but you wavered. Let this be a lesson to you. If this were a real battle you would not have made it.”

Alakryn grimaced. "Yes, Master Duaginal." He was a noblewoman’s son of House Druu'giir. It would be a blow to his ego to have lost to a commoner. Calal wanted to smile proudly, to celebrate her victory, but she would not do so until she was given permission.

The wizard turned his attention to Calal. “You, my boy, showed surprising fortitude. Making use of several spells in tandem to gain a greater result, using your injury to your advantage, and fighting even after being injured, these are important traits. I see now why your priestess has chosen you, a commoner, to join her House. With our continued training you might yet learn to become a valuable asset to your mistress. I look forward to seeing if you make more progress. I want you to show me that this was not a fluke or dumb luck. Prove to me that this was you following innate battle instinct and learning control.”

Calal felt overwhelmed with the compliments. Usually the students and teachers alike would put her down and make sure she knew just how mediocre and hated she was for being common-born. This was the first real praise she had received. Having agreed to Master Izzinid's terms and studying his grimoire had truly helped her to grow in leaps and bounds.

“Yes’ir! I mean, Yes, sir,” she corrected, feeling uncharacteristically pleased with a duel outcome.

“Good. You may leave Calal. Alakryn, I would like to you stay for a while. We have much to discuss.”

Calal bowed deeply and packed up her wand in its cloth covering, properly tying it in the proper three places. She left feeling better about herself than she could remember doing. She could not wait to tell Master Izzinid about how well his teachings had stuck with her. It was as much about his proficiency as a teacher as it was about her mastery of his teachings.


	19. Day 19: Rooting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With growing power comes growing responsibilities. Calal receives praise and reward, but is warned of the risks involved with her new duties. Are the risks truly worth the rewards?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

Zarriia giggled and clasped her hands together. “I can’t believe you managed another one so easily! So soon!”

Calal gave an exhausted smile. Nothing made her happier than seeing how much she had pleased her mistress. It eased the aches in her body and made her forget that she was still splattered in blood.

Zarriia grabbed Calal by the waist and pulled her close, kissing her hard on the lips. As the priestess pulled back, blood smeared her otherwise perfectly kept face. “You are just such a wonderful little pet, Calal.”

Calal bowed her head as best she could. “Thank you, mistress. ‘m unworthy.”

“Nonsense! Dispatching of three rivals in ten months? That is practically a record for this House. And you only have half of your Sorcere education. Perhaps you don’t even require any more than that. These victories show you are more than capable.”

Calal kept her eyes downward, it was not her decision to make. Although she was happy to have been able to learn more ancient magic and better understand the Underdark, a part of her always hated the way she was treated by everyone. She could not deny that her lineage did not carry the blood of heroes or those personally blessed by Lolth. Her family had not helped to build empires nor to defend against mighty foes. They were ordinary folk. They helped to provide the poisons that allowed the priestess and other nobles to play their political games.

If she really thought about it, serving House Kenafin as she had, Calal was simply continuing her family's proud tradition of supporting the ruling class. Where before she was less direct in her assistance, now she was more explicitly involved, a tool to help a young priestess to rise through the ranks so that, perhaps one day, Lady Zarriia might serve in a position of true power within Menzoberranzan. It was entirely possible for her to become the matron of her House.

If her mistress proved to be worthy, Lolth would grant power and prestige. And as long as Calal served faithfully by her mistress’ side, she would live to see it. The favor of Lolth might even be bestowed upon Calal in some small ways. It was all she could hope for. To prove herself by mistress and Goddess alike.

“You know, I think you have developed quite the knack for eliminating the obstacles in my way. I was going to save this for your graduation, but I think you would have your time better spent by putting it to use immediately,” said Zarriia, pulling away from Calal and walking to one of her large chests. She moved several items within, finally pulling out a gilded metal box.

Calal looked at the box, uncertain from its size what it’s contents could be. It was a bit longer as the length from her fingertips to elbow, but only about three fingers wide. Perhaps a particularly long, thin blade? Maybe a whip or cat'o nine tails. 

Zarriia placed the box in Calal's hands and it felt surprisingly light. “Thank you, mistress. You are too genar… genra… gen….”

“Generous?” supplied the priestess.

“Thank you, mistress. Too generous.”

Zarriia laughed. “Perhaps. But you can serve me better with the proper tools. Open it, Calal.”

Calal lifted the lid of the box. Laying upon a cushion of purple spider silk, was an onyx rod, carved with a webbed pattern along the shaft. The handle had three spiders, each standing between one of three symbols: the House Kenafin crest, the House name, and Zarriia’s name. It was a symbol of Calal’s acceptance as one of House Kenafin’s males, as rightful property of Lady Zarriia and of the House to whom she belonged. 

Pride swelled within her chest. It was the greatest moment of her life up until then. Being officially recognized was no small honor. As her priestess had promised her, the harder she worked, the more rewards she had received.

“That you were able to take out, not just any of my rivals, but one of House Fey-Branche, this House’s greatest enemy, shows that your usefulness should not go overlooked. Many males have been able to take out our rivals of the lower Houses, but to go against those of a House vying for a place on the City Council, that shows much promise.”

“Thank you, mistress. Yer favor–”

“Your, not yer,” corrected Zarriia.

Calal tried pronouncing her words more carefully. “Your favor-thank you, Mistress- it means everything to me.”

“As it should. Hence purchasing you a decent rod so you no longer have to use that splintering wand. Now,” said Zarriia, suddenly much more serious, “while I am very pleased with your ability to eliminate what blocks my path, I must warn you not to become too bold. We still must follow the law. No one wants to wind up like House Teken’duis.”

Calal said nothing, she had heard the name somewhere before, but could not recall from where.

“Do you know of the demise of House Teken’duis, Calal?”

“Not by the specific, Mistress. Just ‘eard the name before.”

“Well, for all the money we spent it seems Sorcere does poorly on teaching our modern history.” Zarriia scoffed. “I suppose I must teach you instead.”

Calal felt mildly ashamed. She should have remembered the story.

“Teken’duis decided to ignore the law and attempted to wipe out the entirety of House Freth. They did not succeed. There were three who survived the attack. More than enough to go before the Council and demand justice. And while House Freth is in ruins to this day for the attack House Teken’duis made against them, House Teken’duis does not exist. It is no more. The justice of the entire city of Menzoberranzan worked together to open a gate to another plane, to set fire to the house, to use magic and arrow upon any who tried to escape the burning building. None were allowed to live. All that remained of House Teken’duis was a puddle of molten metal and embers.”

Calal recoiled, her ears flattened back against the side of her head. The whole House had been purged from the world? That was a fear she had to have? She would truly have to be careful as she continued.

“You cannot be seen to be making any outward attacks on another House, do you understand? Matron Kyrnill will happily melt the flesh from your bones if you risk bringing our House to ruin under such circumstances as those of House Teken'duis. Grandmother delights in such games. I doubt you would feel the same.”

Calal nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good, now, go to my bedchambers and prepare yourself. I have another reward to bestow upon you.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” said Calal, bowing low to Zarriia.

Zarriia waved Calal permission to go.

Calal took her leave and headed back to her priestess’ chambers. She felt conflicted. It was a great reward that was coming her way. And yet she could not help but feel the weight of risk in her actions. It was necessary, of course. But the fear of the torture that could befall any slight misstep scared her to no end.

There was no going back. Once she proved her usefulness, the only way to go was forward. She had been chosen by House Kenafin, her Mistress. Now she had to concentrate on doing the best she could by her House. There was no other choice, save death. She belonged to them. And here she would be. For the rest of her life.


	20. Day 3: Insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance encounter threatens ruin. Calal's world is shattered and she is left making the hardest decision of her life. But there is a spark of hope. Might she finally be able to live as she always dreamed?
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains death and emotional trauma related to death. It also has some vague descriptions of violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

A beholder shouldn’t have been this close to a city road. Not a major one like this. It had caught them by surprise.

Worse yet, the priestess had not brought a full contingent with her on this journey. They were trying to be stealthy. They were going to arrive, Zarriia was to wait at the inn, her disciple, Yazdiira, would distract the guard, and Calal would drop the poison into Lady Naeven’s well. It was going to be easy. It was supposed to be painless. The rival priestess was buying up the Zarriia’s favorite skirts and forcing the supplier not to sell her Zarriia or anyone of House Kenafin. Eliminating other Drow that threatened or annoyed Zarriia was typical of the tasks Calal was assigned to complete. In fact, other than attending to the priestess' carnal needs and accompanying her on errands, it was all that Calal did.

Perhaps Lady Naeven had learned of their plan through one of the priestess’ rivals back in Menzoberranzan? If so, it might be possible that Lady Naeven had sent the beholder out to intercept them. But that seemed out of character for her. It was too direct.

The beholder turned its central eye stalk towards Calal, a bright beam of green light surging towards her. She just barely managed to dodge out of the way. A good thing too, it was clear the beholder was trying to drain her magic.

The priestess spun her scorpion chain above her head, then shot the it towards the central stalk. The chain wrapped around the stalk, the sharp, poison-dippped dagger at the end driving into the base of the thing. The beholder cried out, an awful sound that pierced the ears and caused pain to rip through your head. It must have been a psychic attack.

Calal slung cursebite onto the screaming creature, marking it with ease while it was distracted by the pain. It would weaken the beholder to her spells.

Yazdiira lifted her staff and cast a spray of webs at the beholder to keep it in place while Zarriia shot a spray of acid at it. The Beholder writhed for a minute under the onslaught, then seemed to freeze. It did not move even as its skin began to bubble and puss. The webs holding it were not so tight that it should not have been able to move.

Calal and her priestess took steps back, readying their next move. Yazdiira did not. She, too, seemed frozen in place.

“Calal, get rid of its eyes, quickly!” shouted the priestess.

“Yes, mistress!” Calal called, starting to cast hellish rebuke towards the eye stalks.

She saw her mistress raising a hand to cast her lightning, when suddenly, she was thrown to the side by a lightening bolt from another direction.

Calal turned, mid-spell, to see Yazdiira facing them, her staff pointed in their direction.

“Mistress!”

“I’ll take care of her, you stop the beas--” Zarriia was stopped as she rolled to dodge another volley of lightning from Yazdiira.

Calal turned her attention back to the beholder. Her priestess’ orders were absolute and she would not stop until told otherwise.

She finished casting hellish rebuke, great torrents of flame sweeping across the many eyes and scorching the beholder's flesh. It twitched at the heat, but remained mostly still, its one eye remained focused squarely on Yazdiira.

Mind control. That must be it. Yazdiira was more loyal than most. It seemed too much that she might betray them now, while she was still apprenticed to the priestess.

One of the burnt eye stalks cast a spell in Calal’s direction. She dodged out of the way, the ground she had vacated turning to stone.

Calal wanted desperately to jump in and help the priestess. She could see lightning cast back and forth, saw the scorpion chain fly towards Yazdiira and a dagger towards her priestess, but she kept her rod pointed at the Beholder. She slung spell after spell of flames, flesh rot, even psychic energy.

The beholder seemed to be growing agitated. Although Calal had managed to easily dodge its spells, the ground was littered in blasts of stone and necrotic magic. At this rate, Calal knew that she would be worn down. If the beholder managed to use its mind control on her or the priestess, they would never make it out alive.

This called for a more drastic measure. One which she knew she would be punished for later. One that could easily cost her her life. 

Calal pulled her sacrificial dagger from her side. Yazdiira would be too hard to get to, and besides, the blood of a priestess was going to be far more potent.

“I am sorry, mistress,” Calal said, quickly running to her priestess’ side. She slashed her mistress’ arm then ran back towards the Beholder, not even able to hear what her mistress yelled in response.

She could feel the power radiating off of her dagger, the raw power already swirling itself into the spell she was forming in her mind. This might just take care of it. The priestess was strong enough that her blood should easily double the output of the spells.

Calal took a deep breath and cast her most powerful spell.

Purple so dark it was near blackness swirled around her, becoming a thick cloud. She pointed her magic rod and her dagger both at the beholder. “Light upon you, monster!”

Like a wall of storm, the dark cloud slammed into the beholder, it’s flesh decaying and melting away under the force of the spell. It screeched and gurgled as it was engulfed in the magic, which moved like waves in a lake, rising and crashing over and over upon the beast.

When the spell faded, only half melted lumps of flesh and bone remained in the Beholder’s wake.

Calal turned towards her priestess, she needed to apologize and to help her with defeating Yazdiira.

Her eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat.

Yazdiira lay on her back, a singed and mangled corpse. A few feet from her, was Zarriia. The one side of her face was devoid of skin down to the bone. She had an arm outstretched, frozen in midair, the hand was turned to solid stone. She was lying in a large and growing pool of blood.

Calal ran to her side. “Mistress! Tell me which potion to use. We can heal this.”

The priestess lay still, her lips, still perfectly painted, lay slightly agape.

“Mistress?”

There was no answer.

Calal pressed an ear to the Zarriia's mouth, listening for breath.

It never came.

That lovely voice that would call to her, why could she not hear it?

“Mistress, can you hear me?”

The silence lay thick all around her.

Calal took Zarriia's hand in hers, pressing it to her cheek. It was cool to the touch.

This was one of the slender hands that would caress her. A hand that had held her for comfort or inflicted the most beautiful pain upon her when she was to be punished. Would she never know the warmth of them again?

“Please, mistress. Do not leave me here.”

The stillness was undisturbed. No others came along the road. No animals moved in the shadows. No faefires burned in the distance.

"Mistress, come back to me. Come back to me as I came back to you when you called."

There was no answer

She was alone.

She was all alone.

Having failed to protect your priestess, there was only one fate. A fate that awaited her should she return.

Death.

There was no room for failure. And she had certainly failed. She had not protected her Lady Zarriia from harm. She had not given her life to protect her.

Panic was rising in her voice. “Mistress? Mistress!” She could not return home like this. If she could not heal her mistress, everything she knew and worked for would be over. All in an instant.

The potions. She needed to get the health potions. Lady Zarriia always ketp some when they traveled.

Calal gently raise Zarriia's hip to slide the leather bag forward. She opened the side satchel her mistress wore, looking through the potions that lay within. Mostly they were poisons, she could recognize them as the ones she had gotten from her mother’s shop. There were two others. They looked like they might be healing potions.

"Please, let this work. Dark Mother, I beg you, please let this work."

She lifted Zarriia's head gently in one hand, laying it into her lap. Calal tore open the stopper and held the potion to the priestess’ lips.

“You’re going to be okay, mistress. Just drink this. Everything is going to be alright.”

She poured the liquid into the priestess’ mouth. It began to spill out the sides of her lips.

Calal tilted her priestess’ head back, catching the spilling liquid with one hand and pushing it back into Zarriia's mouth. She tried to coax the liquid down Zarriia's throat by massaging her neck.

The liquid spilled out of the boney side of her face.

“Mistress, you must get up! You have to get up! Now!”

Calal’s hands flew to her mouth. To have spoken those words to a priestess was punishable by torture or death. Yet the priestess still did not respond. She couldn’t.

There would only be one reason Zarriia would not respond. She was dead.

If a potion could not bring her back and she would not breathe… surely that meant she must be dead.

No. Lady Zarriia wouldn't die. She couldn't! This was all a test. It had to be a test. It was all to see if Calal was loyal. She had to say the right thing, do the right thing. If she did, then her mistress would sit back up and telling her she was proud.

"Mistress, just open your eyes. Lift your hand. Give me a sign you can hear me. I promise, I will take any punishment for hurting you. Take my life if you will, just... just...." Calal trailed off and silence and stillness continued all around her. Everything lay as though time around her had stopped and she was the only thing able to move.

Calal looked around. Looked for any sign of anything alive. There were no bats, no lizards, not even any mushrooms. It had all been destroyed in the battle, or lay lifeless around her. Nothing had survived. Nothing but her.

She was a male who had not managed the one purpose she had in life. There was nothing left for her. Dying was the only thing that remained for her and she had failed to do even that. If anyone knew....

No. No one could know of this. No one at all!

And yet, she could not return to Menzoberranzan without her priestess and without an explanation.

There was no going back to the city.

But where could she go? What could she do?

Calal’s mind raced. There had to be something.

Maybe if she dressed as the priestess and made it seem as though she was not dead? But… that was likely the greatest offense of all! And surely she would be found out. People would know she wasn’t a real priestess.

Unless….

The surface!

Surface folk were ignorant and stupid and far too likely to trust. She could simply stay on the surface and try to learn enough to help on the next Running. The Running was only 7 months away. She could return shortly after that and say she had gone with her servants for a short raid and found that there was much to learn. That she was spying on the inferior surface folk in order to find an exploitable weakness. Then just explain how what she learned helped those in the Running, and she would be able to return home.

Any changes they detected between the real priestess and herself, well, she could play those off as changes from having spent time among the inferior races above. Surely that would be believable.

It was her only chance at survival. It was reckless and stupid, but there were no other choices left to her. She did not want to die. And she had nothing to lose. And she had to do it now. Before anyone came across the scene.

She stripped Zarriia's possessions and redressed the body in her armor, putting on her mistress' clothing. Then she took anything of use that was still intact from Yazdiira.

She looked one last time at the beautiful face of her priestess. Serving Lady Zarriia had been an honor. Being a part of House Kenafin had been a privilege. It was all she had ever wanted and more than she could have ever dreamed.

But it was all over with. There was nothing more she could do for her mistress or the House. All she had left to look out for was herself. And there was only one way to do it. It was time for her to be Zarriia.

She kissed her priestess’ lips one last time. Even in death they were as soft and lovely as she had remembered. Only, it didn't feel like kissing her priestess anymore. Her priestess was never docile like this, never still. Always the one to initiate.

“Farewell, mistress Zarriia. I thank you for all you have done and I am sorry for my failure. I hope you will forgive me for what I have to do.”

She pulled out her sacrificial blade and, with a heavy heart, began to mutilate the body. It was hard work, physically and emotionally, but she did not want any part of the body to be recognizable as the priestess. Nothing could be traced back.

When the strength was gone from her hands, she pointed her rod at the priestess. Lady Zarriia was the last person Calal had ever wanted to point her rod at. She took a deep breath and cast Eldritch blast upon her.

Zarriia watched as the body burned. Watched until it was barely even bones any longer, the few pieces of armor melted into the wrong shapes.

She turned away from the scene and headed down the road, heading towards the closest road that opened to the surface. She would not look back. And she would never again think of herself as “Calal”.

From now on, she was the priestess Zarriia of House Kenafin.


	21. Day 10: Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calal tests if she has the conviction to be Zarriia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

Zarriia looked down the road. There before her was a gate. It was in place to repel any attempt of surface folks trying an assault upon the Underdark. More practically, however, it came to be used to keep back creatures like Orcs and Dwarves and Mindflayers that so often sought to attack the nearby Drow cities.

The gate was also the last obstacle to pass before she got to the tunnel that made its way up to the surface.

She looked at the gate, two males with halberds stood at attention to either side of the open passageway.

It left Zarriia feeling emboldened. Even though they would require her papers, males were only allowed to question so much. She was glad there did not seem to be any other women females. She was not sure how well she would be able to convince even a female soldier that she was born and raised as a woman.

Zarriia took a deep breath and lifted her head up proudly. She had to embody a priestess. A priestess did not have to answer to anyone she did not want to. Those that stood against her were to be punished with death. That was the mentality she had to have. She needed to be swift to anger and quick to demand retribution for any miniscule perceived wrongs.

She strode with purpose towards the two soldiers. How Zarriia wished she was not going to do this alone. She was frightened beyond anything she knew. Not just for if she got caught and what it would mean, but for if she succeeded on getting past the gate, then she had no idea what was in store. A torturous death or an unknown world. One was filled with certainty, the other at least had a chance of hope.

“Who approaches the gate?” bellowed the guard on the right. His blonde ponytail swung like a pendulum behind him as he turned his head towards her.

Zarriia stormed towards him, channeling all the anger she had ever felt into her voice. “How dare you demand anything of me, male! I am a priestess of House Kenafin! I will not have a voice raised against me! I should have your head on a plate for such indignant behavior!”

“A thousand pardons, mistress,” said the guard on the right and bowed.

The guard on the left bowed before he addressed her. “May we speak with you, mistress, it is our duty, set down by our own mistresses from the matron of our House.”

Zarriia kept her one hand on the handle of her rod, the other balled in a fist. “Very well,” she snapped. “But I have little time, so make it fast, male.”

The guard on the left bowed again. “Thank you, mistress. We have been charged with the duty of checking the papers of all of those who seek passage through the gate. Not that we in any way doubt your word, we very much can see you are a priestess of the great Goddess, Dark Mother of us all. We simply would like to record your name for our mistresses, who have bid us to do this task on her behalf.”

Zarriia knew she could not be seen to deny this or she would have to fight two guards. And possibly create a situation.

She also knew how her mistress Zarriia had been. She hated to be made to do anything by anyone. Things usually did end in a fight, though it had been her job, that is, Calal’s job, to take care of it.

“I’ve no time for all of this piddling formality!” She searched through her bag and found Zarriia’s papers. “Here! Read them quickly so I do not have to waste another second. I’ve an appointment to get to.” She tapped her foot against the ground.

The guard on the right took a step forward, reading them. “May I take these to review, mistress?”

“No,” cried Zarriia, pulling them back. “Why would I entrust a male, who has proven he does not understand etiquette, with my important documents? I’ve no idea who your mistress is and what her stance may be on my House. I’m not about to let her cunning take advantage of me because her male–”

The guard put up his hands. “A thousand apologies, mistress.”

“There had better be! Already I’ve wasted enough time. I have House business to attend to, which you are delaying. Have you gotten what you want, or will I grow old waiting for you to fumble all over yourself? I should send your mistress a recommendation that she have your tongue cut out, so you can’t insult her choice in selecting you with your insubordinate words any longer.”

Zarriia realized she was going a bit hard, her nervousness coming out as cruelty. It wasn’t exactly wrong for her mistress’ demeanor, but she hoped it would not push the guards to a fight.

The guard on the left bowed again. “Perhaps if I may see your House signet we will have enough to let you pass,” he offered, clearly trying to diffuse the situation himself. “We do see you have your papers, this will be the last request, mistress, you have my word.”

With an exasperated sigh, Zarriia held up her hand, showing the Kenafin House signet ring.

The guard on the left stood to attention. “Thank you, mistress of House Kenafin. Please feel free to go as you like. A thousand apologies for keeping you.”

The guard on the right stood to attention. “Thank you, mistress of House Kenafin, for allowing us to take your time. A thousand apologies.”

“Much better,” Zarriia scoffed. “Let that be a lesson to the both of you!”

She walked through the gate with her head raised high. Zarriia held her breath the whole time she passed under the great stone structure, waiting for one of the guards, or someone else to say something or to attack her. Waiting for another female to show up and be able to speak more directly to her. Waiting to be caught and captured.

She came out the other side, still walking with her head held high. Her knees were shaking, as much from the fear as from the adrenaline of the close call. But Zarriia forced herself forward, she had to be out of sight.

After she had walked a while, she stopped and turned around. No one had followed her. No one was coming after her. She had done it!

Zarriia smiled to herself. She had managed it. She had been the Priestess Zarriia. She had done it without fault. Maybe this would work after all!


	22. Day 25: War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia struggles with her identity.
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains dysmorphic thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

Zarriia sat close to the fire she built. It was warm and kept at bay many of lesser beasts that might come after her.

And yet, she did not feel safe. All around it felt as though there were eyes, unseen, but boring into her nonetheless. She felt judgement. There did not appear to be anyone around her, but it did not diminish the feeling. She had set darkfire in any areas of deep shadow, making sure no one was hiding, watching her. But it did no good to soothe her fears.

Every sound, every glimpse of movement, caused Zarriia to jump, her rod always at hand, waiting to cast at the first sign of trouble.

Worse than the external worries, were the voices of doubt that began to creep into her mind. Voices that tugged at her heart, that made her feel grotesque.

Why did she really take the priestess Zarriia’s identity? Was it truly just a means to survival? Or was it a way to gain an instant rise in status? Had she used the curse of Corellon to promote herself in a way that no others could do? Did this mean she was forsaking her people’s laws and turning her back on the goddess?

It was hard to know who she was anymore.

She looked down at her small bosom, which lay mostly revealed in the low-cut dress. Handkerchiefs had been shoved underneath to help keep the garment from being so loose as to let her slip out. Even with her curse, she was not able to fill out the bust of the dress unaided.

The whip at her waist was a favorite of her mistress’. And yet, she had no idea how to wield it. A gift from the matron mother of House Kenafin upon Zarriia’s graduation for Arach-Tinilith into a priestess of the House. It was a symbol of achievement and status.

Holding it in her hand, Calal felt very small. She wasn’t a priestess. She didn’t know how to navigate in the world of her own people as a woman, let alone in a strange land, all alone. Her only hope was that people would not be aware of what to expect of her.

An insidious little voice clawed at her mind. _You aren’t good enough to be a priestess. You aren’t even a real woman. You don’t know the first thing about power or being female. Just having the parts doesn’t mean anything._

She felt a knot in her stomach from fear of being caught. For fear that she deserved to be caught. What if she had just been lying to herself her whole life. What if she was selfish and it was this taint of the wicked god of surface elves? What if Corellon was tricking her, making her think she was a female. What if all of this was just a way to destroy her people and she was an instrument of Corellon, a spy so cleverly planted, not even she was aware of it?

No, Zarriia told herself. That’s not what this is. The surface elves and their gods did not hold power or sway in the Underdark. They were fools and not capable of such clever plots.

 _Corellon is still a god_ , the voice reminded. _He is trying to sway you away from your people. He is driving you to the surface so that you will return to him. So that you can serve him and his ilk. You are being led away from your calling. You are Calal and you always will be. Playing at being a female is a crime. For you to continue to live like this is a daily insult to Lolth and the matron of the House you serve. Better that you should return and take punishment for your failures as a male, then to add further insult to the end of the priestess who cared so much for you._

She shook her head. No, that wasn’t what this was. It couldn’t be!

Calal grabbed her head, it felt like it was threatening to burst. She didn’t know who she was anymore. She didn’t know what to do. She just wanted to go back to her room in the Kenafin mansion. To lay her head upon her priestess’ lap and wait for orders. She wanted things to go back to the way they were.

It wasn’t possible.

She wasn’t Calal anymore. Calal had died out there in the wilderness. Calal had died trying to protect the priestess he served. Calal had died serving Zarriia. Serving **her**. Calal was a good and loyal male, but he was gone. She alone had survived. And she was a priestess of Lolth, loyal female of her grandmother’s House, House Kenafin.

There was no time to think any more on this. No time to waver. Indecision could mean her death at any turn.

No matter what, there was no turning back. Only looking ahead. This was about survival. She had to get out of the Underdark. She had to make it to the surface. She was so close now. She was going to make it. No one would stop her, not even her own self.


	23. Day 8: Opposites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia learns just how different life on the surface is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

Zarriia felt nauseous the first week she spent on the surface. The whole world felt like a vacuum. Vast, open, and endless.

It hurt to be out in the light, draining her of her powers and scorching the skin. Zarriia had to keep the hood of her cloak down over her face, to wrap a scarf round her nose and mouth, and wear gloves.

She had heard that the sun was bright. Everyone in the Underdark knows it’s bright. But it was worse than bright, it was blinding. Her eyes burned with how much light it gave off and she had to hide the whole first day in the tunnel leading back to the Underdark until it began to fade. Even with her eyes closed, the sun seemed to penetrate her eye lids. She was happy to remain in the dark, cool tunnel until dusk.

When she walked out and the world opened up around her, a fear took her so hard she had to remind herself how to breathe. It was so much wider than any words could describe. And to look at it, the sky just went up and up endlessly. The twinkling lights were beautiful, but if you tried to focus on them, they seemed to pull you up and away with them. It made her dizzy. She clung to the ground as she walked out under it, worried that if she did not concentrate, that it might pull her straight up.

Eventually hunger drew her towards the town. In the dark of night, it was easier for the surface peoples to mistake her as just another traveler, so long as she kept herself covered.

The people on the surface spoke strangely. Their common tongue was not quite the same as it was in the Underdark, though it was similar. She had not realized that Undercommon would be so very different. Surfacecommon was like the same words, but she couldn't quite make them all out.

She went to get a meal from a small stand in the middle of town. The sign said chicken. Zarriia was elated. She always heard about the strange feathered lizards that you could eat their flesh and their eggs.

Zarriia asked the pale skinned man for the cost of a chicken.

The man looked at her with a friendly smile that set Zarriia’s nerves on edge. You could never trust a person willing to smile at you. They always had a plan for your demise. This smile, she had not seen the likes. It was so broad and toothy. She tried to concentrate on understanding his strange way of speaking, from what she could understand, he seemed to be asking if she wanted to eat now, or to take it home? Away? Somewhere else, certainly.

Zarriia was eager to try it, and told him she was looking to eat it right away.

The man seemed to be indicating for her to wait while he made preparations.

Her mouth watered as she watched him take down one of the hanging carcasses. It was a beautiful looking animal. She had never seen its like. It had no fur or head or feet, just a pale pinkish white skin. She could only assume the feathers had been removed along with the head and feet and tail. He placed the small body into something lower down in his cart. She waited patiently. There was a pleasant aroma coming from the cart. She wasn't familiar with it, but she decided she liked it.

Then something started to smell awful, like burning flesh. Zarriia pulled her scarf closer around her nose while she waited.

After a few minutes, the man held out a blackened body that she supposed had been that beautiful meat, setting it on some sort of wax coated paper and motioned for her to take it.

“What is this?!” Zarriia demanded. “You’ve ruined it!”

The man looked perturbed and began to motion wildly while talking about fire and chicken. Zarriia did not understand. Who set meat on fire and tried to sell it? It was like swallowing poison and expecting your neighbor to fall down dead. It made no sense.

Zarriia tried to explain to him, “This meat has been burnt! I cannot possibly eat burnt food.”

The man shook his head and tried explaining something, but she could not understand anything he was saying. Realizing that his explanations were falling on deaf ears, the man grew angry and started screaming at her.

Frustrated that a male was yelling at her, she drew her rod. “How dare you raise your voice to me! I am a female you disgusting savage!”

The man put up his hands and seemed to make some sort of apology. Then he took down another one of the hanging carcasses, covered it with a mix of spices and held it out to her, presumably for her inspection.

Zarriia took it from the man happily. “Yes! You see? This is perfect. Just because I am from out of town you thought you could take advantage of me. Nice try in being clever, male, but you must remember your betters.”

The man seemed even more confused and motioned to her if she wanted it.

“Of course!” Zarriia said. She held it up to look it over. It was so plump and fresh. It smelled even better with the spice mix on it.

She took a bite of it experimentally. It had a light, subtle flavor, but felt hearty. “I admit, this is pretty nice, actually.”

The man went pale. Well, paler than he was. Surface people were already rather pale to start.

“What is your usual charge?” Zarriia asked.

The man held up three shaky fingers.

Zarriia counted out three coins from her purse and set them on the counter. “Let this have been a lesson,” she said, then she walked away, eating her meal. She ignored the retching sounds coming from the cart. It served him right trying to sell her burnt food. Let him be sick from the carbonous smell.

She realized from that interaction, however, that she was not going to be able to continue on the surface if she could not learn to better understand the differences in language. She had barely managed that one interaction, and it had been a simple one. What if she needed to communicate something more specific?

Walking around the town, she found a shop with a sign outside baring the shape of a cauldron and she entered it. An old orc woman sat behind the counter. Boxes labeled in a language she did not understand covered the shelves along one wall. There were all size and color of potions along the other. Behind the orc was row after row of books. Clearly this was a shop that could have useful items, if not information as well.

She approached the orc cautiously, though she did not want to seem as though she was not confident. A priestess was nothing, if not confident.

“What manner of speech scrolls do you carry?” Zarriia asked.

The orc woman looked up at Zarriia and leaned across the counter on one elbow. “Recently left the Underdark, deary? Need help understanding the locals on the surface?”

Zarriia refused to let her relief be shown. “Indeed.”

“Did a guide instruct you to find Aunty Ghodgi then?”

Zarriia nodded.

“Well why didn’t you just say so?” asked Aunty Ghodgi with a wide grin that showed off her crooked teeth. She reached under the counter and pulled out a small book.

Zarriia watched Aunty Ghodgi’s hands carefully. If this were a trap….

“Come now, my dear lady, Aunty isn’t going to hurt you. I have a book for you to look over. It tells all about what to expect here on the surface, how to keep yourself from getting into an awkward misunderstanding with the locals. 30 gold and it is yours, though I’ll let you take a look before you purchase.” She held up the book.

“And how much for the scroll?” asked Zarriia, not wanting to commit to anything.

“80 each for the scrolls. But I warn you, they only last for 12 hours each,” said Aunty Ghodgi.

Zarriia thought about her coin purse. Two scrolls was more than she had on her.

“Let me look at this book of yours,” Zarriia said, holding out a gloved hand.

Aunty Ghodgi placed the book in Zarriia’s hand. “What brings a Drow lady to the surface? It’s not the usual time of year for it. And one Drow female all on their own, too.”

Zarriia pulled her hand back. “My business is my own, if you please.”

Aunty Ghodgi had a hearty laugh. “So polite for a Drow, too.”

That irked Zarriia. She knew she had to play this delicately. She did not want to betray who she really was, but she also did not wish to be goaded into a real insult. She did not think it would be safe for her to get into a row with an Orc while she was still trying to keep a low profile in town. She decided it was best to ignore the comment and look at the book.

The book seemed to be rather useful. Most of it about differences in customs and food.

Zarriia thought about it, even at only 30 gold it was a big chunk of her money. She did not know how easy it was to make money or how much things usually cost on the surface.

She flipped to the next section, it was about surface speech. She carefully read the overview on the subject. This was far more important to her than anything else this book held.

“So what do you say, deary? 30 gold is a better deal than 80, don’t you think?”

Zarriia looked up at Aunty Ghodgi’s toothy grin. “Do you bargain?” she asked.

Aunty Ghodgi’s eyes lit up and her smile widened. “Always, deary.”

“I do not have use for other than one chapter of this book,” Zarriia said.

“Oh, is that right?”

“It is.”

“So what you want,” asked Aunty Ghodgi, “is a way to purchase just the one chapter of the book?”

“In some manner, yes. I should like the contents of that chapter.”

Aunty Ghodgi rubbed her chin. “It would be a crying shame to ruin a book which I could sell for full price, just for a section. No one would buy a book with part of it ripped out.”

“I would like to propose a different solution,” said Zarriia. “One which leaves your book intact.”

“I’m listening,” replied Aunty Ghodgi.

“Allow me to copy down the chapter. I will pay you the cost of ink and parchment.”

“A good pitch, deary. But I can’t have you hanging around writing all day in and day out, you’ll disturb my regular customers.”

Zarriia thought for a moment. She needed a way to learn surface speech.

“Why don’t you just purchase the whole book, deary. It will save you the trouble,” Aunty Ghodgi said gently.

“No. You shall teach me the surface speech yourself.”

That raised an eyebrow from the older Orc. “Excuse me, deary?”

“I said, you shall teach me.”

“Listen here, m'lady, this ain’t no school and I ain’t no teacher.”

Zarriia pulled her hood back, revealing the jewelry that marked her as a priestess of Lolth and a lady of House Kenafin. “In exchange, I shall help you with your business.”

“Get out of my shop.”

“I have rare mushrooms from the Underdark. I would be willing to part with some and explain the uses of them in exchange,” said Zarriia, realizing this was her last chance.

"And what makes you think I don't already know all about these mushrooms and have jars full of them in the back?"

Zarriia smiled. "Because some of them are prohibited from leaving the Underdark and others only grow in a few caves to those with the specialized knowledge to look. I know you are a business woman and I see that you sell a wide variety of items. Surely these could bring in a healthy price." 

Aunty Ghodgi eyed Zarriia suspiciously before she leaned back off the counter. “Fine. I’ll teach you how to understand Surfacecommon and you will show me about these mushrooms. But I’m only going to teach you when I’m not busy with customers and you get a day per mushroom. Then I want you gone. You hear me? I never want to see you again afterwards.”

Zarriia smiled and bowed her head. “It is a deal.”


	24. Day 18: Hollow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia continues her struggles with life on the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

Zarriia headed back to the cave at the edge of the tunnel. It was several hours outside of town, but the only place she could sleep until night returned.

While she was making progress learning to decipher the surface speech, it had not done much to change the opinions of those in the town. While Drow regularly came through the small town, there were many who harbored disdain for her kind. They also seemed to dislike others from the Underdark who had different cultures and laws.

Twice now she had tried to stay at the inn. The first time she could not tell what the woman was saying, other than she was talking in an angry tone about Drow and pointing at the door.

The next time Zarriia had gone back, this time having learned better to understand the surface accent, she had understood when the innkeeper hurled insults about barbarians and told Zarriia she wasn’t welcome at the inn.

Zarriia had tried other places, too, but always there was an excuse. It seemed that the last raiding party had been particularly prone to setting buildings on fire. Zarriia thought it was partially the townsfolk’s fault for making their homes out of such flammable materials. Who would willingly make their homes out of kindling? Further, who, having seem them burned down, would then make them out of the same materials again? Stone was a much better material for building any structure.

Regardless of the town’s shortsightedness, Zarriia was out of a proper place to stay. She did not want to allow anyone to see her sleeping in an alley, so she had taken to returning to the tunnel. It was relatively sheltered, keeping out much of the brightness and weather. The way the days and nights had such varying temperatures were horribly shocking, so having a way to keep from the heat and brightness of the sun was essential for her.

It was dangerous though. At any point, day or night, someone or something might decide to come up out of the Underdark and through the tunnel. It could be dwarves, kobolds, mindflayers, dire bats, or an army of orcs. Any manner of death could be waiting for her when she shut her eyes. She was a single Drow, alone in a harsh land.

The usual protections being a priestess could afford, were no longer at her disposal on the surface. These were people who did not respect the Goddess. People who simply let their males pretend to be of the same ilk as their females. She had heard a man say it was his shop. The surface folk actually let men own property? Or a businesses?

It was simply not something men were capable of doing. They hadn’t the minds for it. They hadn’t brains properly developed for that sort of higher reasoning. They could be clever, some of them, yes. But truly intelligent? That was the realm of women. It always had been. History had proven that obvious fact.

She had been warned that those on the surface had some backwards and even dangerously naive ideas. Zarriia should have been prepared for this, but she had not been able to comprehend just how widespread the differences were. Nor how savage its people were.

She huddled behind a small stone outcropping on the side of the tunnel. It was just big enough that she could not easily be seen from further in the cave or from the outside.

When dusk fell on the surface, the cold quickly crept across the land. Zarriia pulled her cloak around her shoulders. It was colder than she would have expected, a far contrast to the searing heat of the day. She missed the constant cool temperatures of the Underdark.

Zarriia had no idea how long she could continue to stay in the cave. She needed to find a way to earn some money and start working towards building herself the needed resources and to gather information.

She had a huge world to navigate and no idea yet how to do so. Zarriia didn’t know where she would have any luck finding work. Or even what other people on the surface did for coin. She had barely been out of her childhood when the real Zarriia had taken her. Even while she worked her mother’s shop, she knew very little about how the business worked or what amount of compensation was proper for what.

The sky made a horrible rumbling sound and grew ever darker. An invisible but icy force blew towards her, like a giant draft from the open sky. She shivered and pulled the hood down over her face. She had not felt so cold in the whole of her life. It also seemed to make the rocks become cold to the touch.

Zarriia’s body trembled and she drew her knees to her chest. The cold was radiating out through her body, it felt like it was getting into her bones. Was this what it felt like to die? Her body grew stiff. It felt like something was empty within her. Even the tips of her ears and nose were cold.

She crept out of the cave and grabbed a few big branches and some small one for kindling. She arranged them carefully and used a spell to start up a small fire. Zarriia’s small hands reached out towards the warm flames, burning a violet color below her fingertips. It felt like she was coming back to life as the warmth started to return to her fingertips.

First she had to get warm. Then she could start looking for work.


	25. Day 22: Carnival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia has her first informal experience with surface males. It reminders her of a lost memory.

Zarriia sat at a table in the tavern next door to the inn she was staying. The lighting was not very strong and when she had explained she did not wish to have her meat turned to charcoal by cooking it, the weird surface custom though it was, the staff sat her at a table in the back corner. The meal, since they did not have to put it over flame, came at a discount. It was the best case scenario.

Or it had been.

Two males, a human and a gnome, kept glancing in her direction as they swallowed pint after pint of some cheap ale. Zarriia knew this could mean trouble, but she kept quiet, ate her meat and drank her wine.

After a very animated looking discussion between the two male, they stood up and approached her table. Zarriia placed a hand on her rod under the table. She was ready to defend herself if they so much as tried to touch her.

“S’what’s a pertty fing like you, doin’ inna place like dish?” slurred the gnome, leaning on the chair to her right.

Zarriia prickled. Her ears flattened against the sides of her head and she ground her teeth. The male was speaking to her. Without permission. It felt like an affront to her femininity. It was made all the worse by her not being entirely sure she understood him or that she would be able to understand him if the situation should become confrontational.

“Are you speaking to me without asking permission first?” asked Zarriia, her mixed anger and fear barely contained.

“See! What’d I tell you. Drow ladies…” the human trailed off for a moment, as though he had forgotten he was speaking. Then he lifted a finger, as though indicating the thought had returned. “They don’t like if you ssspeak ta ‘um ‘fore you…. told ta ssssspeak ta ‘um.”

Zarriia could smell the cheap alcohol wafting off of them. She wrinkled her nose.

“My ‘pologies, Miss….uh…. Lady. May I ‘ave a wordsss… togeffer?” asked the gnome, swaying slightly, despite his grip on the back of a chair.

The drunken behavior of the two men did little to endear them to Zarriia. She pulled one of the small legs off the chicken, the joint crackling as she did so. She sunk her teeth in, letting the blood stain her lips. She hoped they might get the hint that she was not in the mood for any strange surface chatter. “And what could you possibly wish to speak to me about that I would have an interest in?” 

The gnome gave her a goofy, lopsided smile. It was made even less attractive by the fact one of his eyes didn’t seem to want to stay completely open. “We’re goin’ ta a shhhhhindig. Sss’a party. Do ya like parties?”

“Whether I enjoy them seems besides the point. You seem more interested in my accompanying you.” Were males allowed to ask things of females on the surface? Such was madness! Absolute chaos.

The gnome slapped his companion on the hip. “See? I told ya I cud convince ‘er!”

“I never said I would go with you, male!” spat Zarriia. “You insult me with your presumptions! You have not given your name, your House, if your people even have one, or the name of the female you belong to. Why should I want anything to do with you? I should flog you for such bold behavior!”

The gnome looked sufficiently frightened and confused. The human however….

He put his hands up. “Pardon me, m’lady. Might I offer ssssome ‘pologies on his behalf?”

“Very well,” said Zarriia. “Go ahead.”

“My name is Remod. My family is the Blacks. I guess the woman of my house would be my mother, Tulra.”

Zarriia nodded her acknowledgement, the way she had seen her priestess do a thousand times. The movement slight, but enough to be taken notice of.

“Dortor, s’my friend here. He ‘ssssn’t know proper mannerz. Never seem a Drow, let ‘lone such a beaudy. Plez dun’t hurt ‘im. He’z juss stupide.”

“Hey!”

“Shuddup, Dortor.” Remod paused in thought again. “Right! We haff a festibal here. Local tradussion. You find trablers, an’ you bring ‘um ta watch the bonfire an’ dancin’. Maybe effen dance wiff ‘um. We are juss ‘umble, if stubid men. But!” and here Remod lifted his finger in the air again, “we wud be hawnored if you wud allow us ta ‘company you.”

Zarriia considered the proposition. She certainly had not had such an opportunity before. And she did need to prove herself by gaining a following of males to protect her. There were several matrons in Menzoberrazan who used seduction to gain power. Perhaps that was a good avenue for her, too.

Remod began to bow and Dortor, seeing the action attempted to do that same. What a disaster. As Remod tried to bow down he hit his forehead on the table. Dortor, already swaying, ended up losing his balance and falling over on his side.

Zarriia began to reconsider. These two were below her. So little intelligence.

Yet the human had some charm and the gnome had persistence. Stupid though they were. And a male was still a male. The two together might even prove useful.

“So long as you do not conduct yourself in any way that might cause me embarrassment, I will agree,” said Zarriia and stood.

The men’s faces lit up.

She turned to Dortor. “Can you stand without falling?”

He nodded vigorously. “You bet I can, Missy!”

Zarriia considered him. “You may carry my meal in case I grow hungry. And if you do well, then I may decide to dance with you.”

Dortor gave the crooked smile again. “Thank ya, Miss.”

Zarriia picked up her chicken and the plate it was on and handed it to Dortor. He looked at it and then made a face of half horror.

“Nodda be rude, Miss, but yer chicken wasn’t cooked? Dat can’t be ‘ealthy.”

Behind him Remod glances over to the chicken and then covered his mouth. He looked pale. His golden skin losing its vibrance.

“Unlike you on the surface, we like to appreciate the flavor of our food instead of turning it into charcoal over flame,” said Zarriia, standing up.

Remod held out an arm and Zarriia took it. She knew that if the man tried anything it would be easy to cast darkness around them and then eliminate both of them. In the night like it was, none would be likely to even see what she did.

Remod lead their way out towards the town square. In the center was a large stage and behind it a towering pile of logs which burned a pale yellow, their spitting sparks and winding smoke reaching up high into the night sky, as though they were being breathed in by the stars above. And all around the pyre were people dancing and laughing and eating. A large group of musicians played an upbeat tune from their place on the stage.

“Miss? Ya care fer a dance?” asked Dortor, still holding the plate of chicken.

Zarriia did not take her eyes off the merriment, so different from what she knew. “I do not know the dance,” she said simply.

It was so strange here. The people were all openly laughing without inflicting harm or engrossing themselves in the pleasures of the flesh. And no one seemed to be trying to slip anything into one another’s drinks or stab each other. What was the festival for?

Back in Menzoberranzan, public events were things like executions, or celebrations after a good battle, or even the return with slaves and the spoils of a surface raid. And there was plenty of stabbing and sabotage to be had. What method did the surface folk use to subvert their enemies and rivals? She could not discern. It was so foreign and bizarre.

As she looked out over the crowd, she watched a very inebriated woman stumble and spill her entire drink on top of a male’s head.

Her eyes widened. In all her hurry to escape to the surface, she had forgotten something. Something important to her becoming Zarriia.

“Come on, s’not dat scary ta trytah dance, issss it M'lady?” asked Dortor looking up at her.

Zarriia could feel a creeping dread within her. She needed to take care of the last thing she had missed. At the same time, she wanted to make sure that she did not startle her newfound males, in case they were more useful to her when they sobered up.

“We… we don’t really do this sort of thing back home,” she said, her voice quivering.

“We wud be s’happy to show you,” said Remod, bowing a bit more competently this time.

Zarriia turned the corners up her lips up in an attempt at a smile. She had never had to force one before. She hoped she was doing it correctly.

Remod raised an eyebrow, but Dortor hardly seemed to take any notice at all. He was looking between her and at the chicken, giving it a wary look, as though it might turn and try to attack him.

“Very well. Show me.”

Dortor tried to hand the plate of chicken off to Remod, who pushed it back into his friend’s hands. “Bess show the lady the stebs wiff someone closer in height, no offense, friend.”

Dortor grumbled something in a language Zarriia didn’t understand and held onto the plate of chicken.

Remod held out a hand and Zarriia took it. It was the first time that she had touched a person since living as a woman. It was the first time she had allowed anyone to.

“May I haff the ‘onor ob showing you a danse?”

Fighting the urge to pull away, Zarriia nodded. The last person to have touched her had been her mistress. She could not tell if she enjoyed being touched again or if she simply wanted to turn and flee. Surely a drunk surface male couldn't tell that she was not born a female. Right? She turned to Remod. “Yes, you may.”

Remold instructed Zarriia on where to place her hands and asked permission before he put his hands on her waist and her back. She was cautious about it, but listened to his instruction. He began to move, slowly at first, saying the steps as she was supposed to make them. Yet she found that just the way he moved, she was naturally starting to fall into most of the movements without instruction.

“Wow,” Remold exclaimed, “you’re a natural follow.”

Zarriia suspected that the remark was a compliment, but she did not like the way it sounded. Priestesses weren’t supposed to follow males. Males were supposed to follow them. Her ears lowered back against her head. “I have many skills,” she said defensively.

Remold laughed jovially. Yet it did not feel as though it were mocking or pointed at her. She relaxed.

“Woah. I muss be drunk,” said Remold.

Zarriia looked at him. “Is that why you are laughing?”

He shook his head. “Thought I ssssssaw your earz moob.”

“Of course they move,” she said.

“Huh,” said Remold and reached out towards her ear.

Zarriia pushed his hand away. “Don’t you dare!” 

Remold folded the offensive hand behind his head. “Sorrie.”

Zarriia looked around, she suddenly felt the panic that she had held so tightly under control begin to unravel.

“You a’right?” asked Remold, reaching out towards her again.

Without being able to control it, Zarriia turned, pulling of out Remold's hold and ran in the direction of the inn. She could faintly hear the sound of Dortor’s voice calling out to her as she went. “Whad ‘bout yer chicken?”

But Zarriia didn’t care. She had to get away. It was just too much. It was all too much. And she knew she had to fix her mistake before it was too late.

The one thing missing that Zarriia had and she did not was a scar.

It had happened at one of the private parties that House Kenafin had been invited to.

Unlike the public celebrations, the private affairs were typically reserved for marking occasions of promotion or alliance between Houses. Usually at such event, Calal, and other serving males, were made to wait outside in the hall unless summoned by their mistresses.

On this one particular occasion, the hosting House had invited one favored male to accompany each lady for the purpose of party games. Games included appraisal of various aspects of each male, from wit to physical attributes like physique and dexterity.

At a lull between activities, a male carrying an oil lamp had tripped. The lamp he was carrying, including the rothe lard oil inside, spilled all over the front of Priestess Zarriia’s dress. The hot burning oil took light immediately, scorching through the fabric in an instant.

Calal had tried to put out the flames, but Zarriia had pointed to the male and told Calal to grab him. She had.

With the dress still aflame, Zarriia had pulled out her scorpion whip and caught the male across the face. He had fallen to the ground. Zarriia screamed from the fire and fury as she tore through the male’s flesh again and again.

The priestess who he belonged to heard the commoation and came racing in to see what had happened to her favorite male. He was shaking on the floor, a growing pool of blood at his feet, trickling down his face and arms like a spring from the stone.

An argument broke out between the priestesses. Each blaming the other for having caused the incident. Volleys of accusations about secret plots of murder were spouted on both sides.

Calal had stayed where she had been told, holding the bleeding male down.

She held him as the ladies continued to battle. The male struggled at first. Calal continued to hold him down. Eventually he stopped moving. His body grew cold.

Calal waited until at last one dagger was drawn, then another.

In the end, a priestess and her male both lay dead upon the floor. Calal had helped to put out the fire and carry Zarriia home.

The healers of House Kenafin had tried their best to repair the damage done, but, as Zarriia had suspected, the lamp oil had been tampered with, leaving a spell within it that would not fully heal. It was the worst imaginable thing for a Drow. Beauty was prized above all else.

And while the healers managed to minimize the spread of the burn, an S-shaped curve of burn remained on the inner thigh.

And now, it was her turn to earn the same scar. Nothing was more frightening to her than the prospect of having to turn one of her own spells against herself like this. But if the true Zarriia was able to be identified by the burn, then she would have to have it too.

As soon as she got into her room, Zarriia lit the candle by the bed. She used her magic to make the flame burn high and hot.

She took a deep breath. Then she poured the wax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.


	26. Day 23: Reminiscing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through the pain to transform herself further into the priestess, Zarriia wrestles with her guilt for the suffering and untimely fate of her priestess. 
> 
> Warning: Brief descriptions of burn injuries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

Zarriia held the overly soft pillow to her face, stifling her whimpering cries. It was soaked in her tears.

She felt weak. Both from the exhaustion that the pain had wrought and from the amount she had been able to cry. To still be crying.

The pain continued, throbbing in waves of heat that could not be soothed. She had to let the flesh come to a scar.

Taking a few deep breaths to steady herself, she peered down at the wound to check its progress. Her flesh lay open, red and puffy, angry at the abuse it had suffered at her own hands. At the edges, it was blistering, foul looking liquid growing below. It was hideous and it make her feel ill to her stomach to look at it.

This had been necessary, but it was a cruel fate to have bestowed upon herself. Surely it would be harder to find a male who would not find the wound so hideous that he could not maintain his attraction to her. How could she now seduce a male with this vile blemish?

She scrambled for the bedpan again. Zarriia retched once more, her stomach too empty from earlier to be able to vomit, but her body continuing to go through the motions regardless.

As frightening as being alone was, she was so grateful that none could see her looking as she now did, to see that lack of grace and beauty that she was meant to uphold.

There had only ever been one person besides her parents who had seen her at her lowest. The one person that never should have. Her mistress.

Zarriia wondered now, if somehow her mistress’s ghost were following her, would the priestess be proud of or disappointed in her. She had committed to a path, overcoming even her own desire to remain unblemished, in order to take the priestess’s place.

The priestess Zarriia had even sought to healing Calal after a particularly deep wound from fighting off a would-be assassin. Carefully tending to the wound and staying by her bedside until she was healed back up.

Sometimes Zarriia wondered just how much of an emotional attachment her mistress had grown for her. Although it was not the sort of thing you would want to allow others to know about, on several occasions, the priestess had chosen the route of investing in her well being. Not that it was unprecedented, being that Calal had been a favored male and chosen mate. Yet many other priestesses chose to leave their males to fend for themselves when injured, or decide to take a newer, unmarked male instead.

When Zarriia’s stomach settled enough for her to move, she opened her pack. She could take the pain no longer. She retrieved the thin fluted vial, it’s red liquid slouching within the bulbous base.

She desperately wanted to hold on, just a little longer. Priestess Zarriia has always made her withstand pain just a little bit further than she thought she could.

Zarriia closed her eyes , grabbing the corners of the mattress with a white knuckle grip, and counted to 30. She could hear the numbers in her mind being said in her mistress’ voice. The sultry tone drawing out each number, the anticipation growing as she ascended in her count. Zarriia held fast, trying to stay as still as possible, just as she had in the past.

When the eternity of getting to 30 was finally at an end, she ripped out the cork stopper and guzzled the potion, greedily drinking it back, trying to suck the liquid out as fast as possible.

The burning sensation subsided very incrementally. The skin felt pulled taunt. She lapped every drop she could from the small bottle, shaking it to get any that yet clung to the sides or the bottom.

She remained on her back, panting heavily, trying not to cry again. She had to check the wound. If it did not scar properly, she would have to try all over again.

Her stomach churned. Zarriia bit her lip. She had no desire to retched again. Yet she had to look.

With shaky breath, she leaned forwards. There upon her inner thigh and hip bone, a scar like a nine-pointed star looked back at her. It was larger than The priestess Zarriia’s had been, but it was still swollen. She hoped it would shrink to the approximate size as it continued to heal.

Zarriia thought back to when her mistress had seen the scar. She had sobbed and screamed. The tapestries has been ripped from the walls, the dishes in the room smashed, and Calal had taken days upon days of beatings as the priestess worked out her grief.

Even in her rage, Calal had stood by her mistress faithfully, unyielding in the knowledge that if she were beaten to death by accident, she would have deserved it for not having seen to the wound faster. If only she had managed to stop the male from spilling the oil at all. She should have thrown herself in the way, to take the wound herself.

Zarriia realized that, in a strange way, she had now made up for her shortcomings of that day. She had now taken the burn herself. It was clearly Lolth’s will that she should take the scar herself.

She had lost her mistress, but this scar could serve as a memory of her. It proved that she had the fortitude to take what was owed. In this way she was proving her faith to the goddess, her loyalty to her priestess, and her right to take Zarriia’s place. Now that she had lived through the same pain, bore the same scar, she and her beloved mistress were closer than ever. Even for all the pain, she was thankful.


	27. Day 20: Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia takes the next step towards living her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

Zarriia had to concentrate on the now, on the immediate future. There was no time to be stuck in thinking of the past.

The future seemed so vast and uncertain. There were way too many possibilities and she knew so little about the surface. She had left the town outside the tunnel with a small map, some strange pale bread, and the name of a town that offered work to “unusual adventurers”. 

At least, that is what the Halfling in town had called it. What was the name of the city again? Dumond? Dupond?

Zarriia stopped to look at the small map again. Duponde. It was strange that they spelled it with an e at the end, wasn’t it?

She had to keep moving. It was a three day’s walk and she was only half a day along the road. She had set out as soon as the sun had set. The surface folk tended to have poor vision in the dark. It worked in her favor, it was harder for anyone on the road to attack her and try to take her stuff.

The downside was, she would have to hide during the day. It was difficult to see in the bright light. Even with her cloak pulled around her face, keeping her eyes open for long periods of time during the day hurt. And she would sweat profusely under the baking sun, making her have to stop and drink large quantities of water. Even with three water skins to fill, she had to keep taking breaks.

She was thankful that up ahead it looked as though there were a lot of thick bushes and tall leafy trees growing along the road. It would make it easier for her to stay out of the sun and hidden from view.

Zarriia realized belatedly that this was the first time she had ever ventured out of a city on her own. And now she was trekking who knew how far and to what end. It unsettled her. She could not stop feeling as though eyes were watching her. Zarriia wished that she were not alone. An attack could come from any direction at any moment.

She hurried along the road, not quite running, but keeping a pace faster than regular walking. She hated the surface. It was too bright and confusing. The people were weird. She just wanted to go back to the small room in her mistress’ grand home and curl up in her own bed. Zarriia wanted to bury her face into her mistress’ hair and feel those slender arms wrap around her shoulders.

Zarriia stopped walking. She stared down at her clothes. Stared at her body.

What was she doing? How could she ever manage to pull this off? A lone Drow had trouble surviving in the Underdark, how would a world she knew nothing about treat her?

She wanted to cry. She lifted a hand to rub her face and got a whiff of the former Zarriia’s perfume. She held the sleeve to her nose and drew in the scent. It was lingering, but already faded from the strength it had once held. Soon she would have nothing left of her mistress. Only the clothing, a scar, and her name.

Zarriia shook her head. She was not Calal any longer. Calal had died in the Underdark. She was the one and only Zarriia. And she was headed for this town, Duponde.

She would find herself a job to earn coin. Coin she would use to hire guards. Then from there she could gather information. She would amass enough wealth and power that when she returned to the Underdark none would dare question her. Those that did would suffer her wrath. No matter what, she had to find a way to go back to the Underdark. To Menzoberranzan, the home she knew. A world she could understand.

She would serve Lolth in any way she could. The details were too complicated to figure out right now, but once she got the money and the entourage to show her status, she could worry about that.

She was Priestess Zarriia of the thirteenth House, House Kenafin. And there was no looking back.


	28. Day 21: Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarriia is a Drow Warlock created for a DnD 4e campaign played in 2017.  
> Each chapter is a prompt from Tumblr's Elfebruary Writing prompts, each day's prompt turned into a chapter. After this first chapter, I have set the chapters into chronological order, though I have left the prompt number attached if you wish to read them in the order they were written in.

Zarriia still couldn’t get used to the way the sun rose. How it seemed to thrust itself up from out of the ground before slinking back down into it in the evening, as though it were a remorseful creature hiding itself shamefully from view.

In the Underdark there was no dawn, no dusk. These were surface concepts. Instead the Faerzress thrummed with light as it gave off its magical energy, having its own rhythms that all the inhabitants of the Underdark lived by. It allowed not only for light by which fungi and plants lived, but also gave their magical weapons and armor power, and worked to protect the cities with defense against certain types of magical interference.

Faerzress was the only major light source that occurred in the wild, the ancient remnants of the Underdark’s formation. It was beautiful to look at. Not just from the warm glow it emanated, but also for the way it made Zarriia feel connected to her heritage, to the place she came from. Knowing it was the stuff that had created her beautiful home.

Surface people did not usually know about Faerzress. They might know that Drow weapons had special properties and that whatever they were crafted from was precious, but they did not know the word Faerzress, nor what gave the weapons their special properties.

Instead, the surface folk relied on the sun. To have a giant burning ball of light drift across the sky each day seemed like a nightmare. Each time the darkness grew lighter, Zarriia loathed what would follow. She had a short window within which to seek shelter. How did the people up here stand it?

After three days traveling and dodging the sun, it was a great relief when Zarriia arrived in the town of Duponde before dawn had arrived. And while the town was far larger than the one she had passed through leaving the Underdark, at such an hour, its streets were nearly devoid of people. It was still too early for the strange daylight dwellers to have begun their days.

She slipped along the quiet streets until she came across an inn. Zarriia opened the door slowly and peered in before she entered all the way. A burly looking dwarf sat at the front counter with their arms crossed, their rust colored, braided beard hidden by their arms. She wondered just how long the beard was.

Zarriia took a deep breath, then lifted her head and pushed open the doors all the way. She made her way to the desk of the inn. “I need room.”

The dwarf made a grunting noise and leaned forward on the counter. “And I need me a good Puvjor, but we don’t be getting what we want for free, lass.”

Zarriia scoffed to hide her embarrassment at the reaction. “How dare you presume I would be unable to pay my way!”

The dwarf did not make any move. “Oh, my mistake. Must’ve been that we dwarves just don’t understand the Drow accent,” they said sarcastically.

“Your jokes are unbecoming of someone offering services. Unless you cannot understand when someone is trying to give you coin for a room.”

“Oh, aye! This be what passes for Drow wit these days, eh?”

“Will you rent me a room our not?” asked Zarriia, worried she was about to get run out of yet another inn.

The dwarf rose from their seat and pulled a key off the wall. “10 coin a night, lass. Pay upfront.“

Zarriia counted out the coin and set it on the counter. “I'd like my room now.”

The dwarf picked up one coin and bit it before pocketing them all and leading the way. Zarriia was so relieved, but knew she had to maintain a front of displeasure. She scowled as she was lead down the hall.

Once the room was unlocked, the dwarf removed the key and turned to go. “We best be seeing you out of the room by an hour past sundown on the 'morrow. Else you pay the same again, lass. Understood?”

Zarriia nodded to the dwarf, who grimaced and spoke something under their breath Zarriia could only assume was an insult.

She didn’t care.

She was out of the sun. She was in a room. She finally, a bed. She had been spoiled living amongst House finery for so long, sleeping in a cave or a bush was not as easy as it might once have been.

She locked the door and then raced over to the bed. She closed her eyes and she lay back upon the mattress. It had never felt so good to see a real bed. She only hoped a rest would help her clear her mind before she went to seek out the job broker.


End file.
